Legal Advisement
by abc79-de
Summary: Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.
1. Chapter 1

Legal Advisement

Chapter One

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

The restaurant he had chosen was elegant, catering to people of means who wished to impress their companions. Both the décor and its patrons were tasteful without being obtrusive. The space was comfortably full to capacity but not loud or cramped. The place settings were fussy and far more extensive than she'd ever needed in a single meal, but she had grown to appreciate such swanky surroundings on occasion. Currently she was all but ignoring the fine china and silver at her disposal, reaching intermittently only for her wineglass as she tapped away on her cell phone. She might have felt guilty for ignoring anything outside her immediate grasp—her dinner date included—if he hadn't been on a call of his own for the last fifteen minutes. He'd rarely spoken, listening mostly and giving infrequent noises of approval. His conversation blended into the light background noise, keeping her focus solely on her questions from the notes provided by her editor and the prep for her upcoming assignment.

His voice was so discreet, in fact, that she took no notice of it until he'd said her name for the fourth time, cuing her in to the fact that he was off his phone and staring at her with intent and amusement. "Rory, did you hear anything I just said?"

She sheepishly lowered her phone, not bothering to exit her email screen. She stretched her legs and re-crossed them under the table as she answered. "I thought you were still on the phone."

"Most people at least register the sound of their own name," he teased gently.

She took another sip of wine, buying her time and allowing her to gaze through the goblet at him. It was always a welcome sight, him smiling in her direction, but the low, romantic lighting highlighted his neat brown hair that cost more to trim than her own and his light green eyes, which were clear and focused on her. Her stomach actually gave a flip. "I was working."

"Then I'm honored you responded at all," he retorted.

She turned her phone off and dropped it into the dark oblivion of her bag, despite the pile-up that was erupting in her email inbox. "I'm listening."

"I was asking if you were still coming to look at the house with me. I've made an appointment to see one in Greenwich next Monday."

Her chest tightened. She'd agreed to go tag along on his house-hunting before her schedule for the coming week had been fine-tuned, let alone before things blew up and got totally re-arranged. She liked being able to check her commitments before agreeing to definite plans, but she hoped he wouldn't mind if it turned out she couldn't make it. After all, he wasn't asking her to live in the house with him, but rather tag along for moral support, as an interested party's opinion. It was at best a sweet gesture on his part, this attempt to include her in his search. There had been no talk of his move being a move for her as well, not that she wouldn't darken his doorstep or enjoy breakfast in his kitchen after waking up in his bed from time to time. It was a growing occurrence with them, over the last few months, that only seemed to grow in likelihood even in the face of both their increasingly busy work schedules.

"You don't need me to come, do you? I need to leave early the next morning for Toronto and at this rate I'll have to skip sleeping between now and then to get ready."

"I thought that trip was next month," he said, clearly disappointed. He never hid his true reactions or emotions from her, which was usually a quality she appreciated, but she hated disappointing people—most of all him. He normally went out of his way to be accommodating for her. She had lost track of how often he'd picked her up in the middle of the night at the airport, the occasions he'd attended her boring work dinners that failed to provide an open bar, and the many times he'd gone alone to his work functions when her schedule conflicted; and all without a single complaint. Most of the time she boasted to her friends and family about having found the perfect boyfriend, all while trying to convince herself that he wasn't too good to be true.

"It was, but it got moved up and the research is mounting. I have interviews to prep for and want to try to narrow down a path for my article. It's not a big deal, is it?" she asked hopefully, though her hopes were quickly dashed when he glanced down and sighed.

"I'd counted on your opinion. It's a major purchase, buying a house."

"I still say you have plenty of space at your condo," she said, echoing her original comment she'd offered when he had first broached the idea of entering into the real estate market for a home in a more residential area. She enjoyed living in the city and assumed he did as well. She wasn't as keen on adding a commute to her day, even to just visit him. She'd thought he would entertain the idea until he discovered how far away the rest of the world was from Manhattan, or that he'd sell whatever he bought after a few months of spending most of his time at her tiny apartment while his new home sat empty. That thought troubled her as well, as she did not have enough closet space to accommodate a near-constant guest, no matter how admirable his abdominal muscles were.

"I have plenty of space for myself, that's true. But I'm actually hoping to find something that will have plenty of space for more than just me."

She blinked several times, his words hitting her brain as a puzzle of sorts, like one of those verbal math questions that offer too many numbers and facts, so that the test-taker was forced to sort through the irrelevant information to find the solution. "Oh?"

He smiled, one side of his mouth curling up slightly higher than the other. He was charming, in a wholly trustworthy way. It was how he earned his living, after all, getting people to trust him. He was a commercial real estate broker, working primarily in Manhattan. She'd met him when she'd gone to interview for her current job, accidentally going up to the wrong floor to find the empty office space where he'd been waiting for a new client. He'd gotten out a good portion of his spiel, showing her half the floor before she'd had the heart to tell him she was in the wrong place. Once she convinced him she was in no way a potential client, he'd asked her out for coffee, which was a compromise she'd happily agreed to.

"There's something I've wanted to discuss with you for a while now," he said, bringing her mind back from the trip down memory lane.

Instantly she felt a familiar wave of fear flood her veins. She wouldn't ever openly admit that she was afraid of commitment in relationships—she'd always had steady boyfriends, living with more than one of them in the past, but never it was never a step she instigated. She knew there was a point of no return in relationships, having learned the hard way, and knew that certain milestones only brought her closer to that point. She'd yet to feel prepared for marriage in any real way, and while she wasn't opposed to moving in with Greg, she would be sad to lose him for any reason, let alone because of her own personal hang-ups. She was hoping to revel in the newness of their not-so-new relationship for just a while longer. Sometimes she mistook the ease of their companionship for the spark of new-found love.

"Alright."

"I don't know that this is totally out-of-the-blue for you, but I hope it's not. You know I've been looking at larger places, and I've been doing that with us in mind."

"You want to buy a place together," she said slowly, taking it in as thoughts of low reserves in her bank account and adding a house hunt to her immediate future filled the realm of her possibilities. She wasn't opposed to the idea of owning versus renting, but she would be a little sad to see her little apartment fade into her past. Moving to New York had been a chance for her to change her life and start over, both with a new job and leaving her freshly single yet again. Even though she was happy no longer being single, she wasn't keen on moving out of New York.

His brow furrowed and he sat up straighter. "This isn't coming out how I imagined. I'm not asking you to buy a place with me, so much as I'd like you to consider marrying me."

Her mouth fell open and she reached out to brace herself on the edge of the linen-covered table. "Was that… are you proposing?"

He held out his hands in an attempt to put an emergency brake on her reaction. "No, at least not yet. You're not exactly an open book in some regards. Most girls start dropping hints after a certain time period—you're always so content with how things are. I've never quite understood if you were just happy with me or you didn't want more than where we were."

"Both, I guess. I'm not with you because I'm eager to get married. I'm with you because I like being with you," she said, emphasizing the last part of her thought.

"That's good, right?" he checked.

She smiled at his uncertainty. He was generally very confident and positive. She found it charming that she had the ability to disarm him a little. "Yes, I think so. Is getting married something you really want to do?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately, usually when I think about us together in the future. I've never been in a hurry for it, but now I think about it. It's definitely something I'm interested in soon and with you. What about you?"

"I've never given it much thought," she said honestly. In fact, she'd only ever made the particular consideration once and it hadn't been an easy decision. "I'm not opposed to the institution itself or anything. And now, I'm at a place in my life that I would definitely consider it."

He was notably relieved. "Good. I would like you to do just that. Think about it. Come see the house with me. I want you to be able to make your decision with all the information you need when I do ask."

Her heartbeat quickened as they breached theoretical discussion and delved into specifics. "You're planning to, for sure?" she asked.

His smile was back in place. "I am. I'd still like it to be something romantic and withhold a little mystery, so not next week or anything, but yes. I've got … plans."

She might have been more scared, to hear he had such plans, but for once she didn't find herself frightened to flight. She was still full of adrenaline, but it was coming from a very different emotion. She drained her wine glass before she made a proposition of her own.

"Let's skip dinner and go to your place."

"I'll get the check," he said instantly, accepting her offer without any consideration needed.

X-X

She woke up alone in his bed, a little stiff and tired and very naked. Once she tossed off the covers, she reached for one of his dress shirts that he'd left on the chair next to the bed and slipped it on. Her legs were exposed to the tops of her thighs, knowing that he'd enjoy the view whenever she found him as he moved about the rest of the place, engaging in his morning-off routines. She hit the kitchen first, filling a striped ceramic mug with the remnants of the coffee that he'd already generously brewed, enough to share. It was still hot, signaling that he hadn't risen much earlier than she. She looked around the generous and well maintained space, inspecting it as if it were one of the last few times she'd ever see it, which she realized might likely be true. She'd be in Toronto next week and if he liked the house he was going to look at, he might move quickly if the closing date was set sooner rather than later.

She'd always liked his place, with its modern flair and it's coordinated, if minimalist, décor. He only had what he used, and his home office took up enough space. His briefcase, ever in the last place he'd put it down rather than a dedicated home, was still on the dining table until she bumped it off as she reached for a banana out of the centralized bowl of fruit. The latch was either faulty or not properly shut, and it popped open as it hit the tiled floor. She swore lightly under her breath as she put her coffee on the table and bent to put the papers inside and return it to its prior resting spot.

She remained mid-crouch as her eyes, ever in-taking whatever was in front of them, skimmed in her fastidious speed-reading manner. As she realized exactly what she was looking at and for whom it was intended, she froze.

"That's all you should ever wear," he said appreciatively as he came in through the living room, pausing in the doorway to lean his form and cock his head at the perfect angle to take in her bent position and her choice of fashion.

"Your briefcase fell. This isn't work," she said, not asking a question.

"You're right, it's not. That's just a preliminary measure I requested," he said, bending to ease the briefcase off the floor. He caught her eye and made no move to take the papers out of her hands.

"It's a prenuptial agreement," she corrected, horrified on a number of levels.

"You can look it over. Actually, you should have a lawyer look over it. Mine drew it up, but it's always good to have someone look out for your interests. I requested it be a standard and fair agreement. I figured with us both being so logical and practical, it was kind of a no-brainer should we get married."

"Right," she agreed hollowly, now staring at the page with little to no focus, so that the printed black legal terms blended together in a grey amalgamation. "That's the smart thing to do."

"I know it's not romantic, but marriage requires practicality as well. I know most women want romance and the big wedding and the fairy-tale aspect of it all," he led.

"I don't need a fairy tale. I've never given it much thought, but I have no desire to wear a fluffy dress that costs more than a car or fill a church with fifteen bridesmaids or any of that. If we get married, it'll be a partnership. That's what I'd want," she agreed.

"Good. So, take your time with that. If you need a lawyer, I can get a recommendation for you," he offered.

"No, no, I can take care of it. It's not a big deal. It's just a practicality, anyway, right? I'm sure it's standard and fair, like you said. I trust you," she said, believing the sentiment of her words.

He kissed her cheek and his fingers grazed her leg from her knee northward. "I like hearing that. I also like you in that shirt," he said, taking note of how few buttons she'd affixed after pulling it over her shoulders.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, letting the papers flutter back to the floor as he slid his hand up under the shirt.

"I'd like it better on the floor," he said, taking her mind off of practicalities and leaving little room for wondering why things might not work out between them.

X-X

The whole damn thing was in French. She scrolled the fourth document of its kind, searching in vain for the English translation without any luck. She groaned both inwardly and outwardly, causing the receptionist to glance up at the noise. Rory realized how loud her frustration was and apologized. "Sorry. Apparently saying I spoke conversational French was a huge mistake."

"I'd imagine it often is," she quipped back, making Rory smile. "Can I get you tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please," Rory requested, as she searched her smart phone for a translation app that could handle vast quantities of text for the pieces her editor had pulled for her to review before she landed in Toronto.

She was handed a hot cup of coffee and invited to go into the office of the lawyer she'd managed to get an appointment with on short notice thanks to a friend's recommendation.

"Please sit down, Miss Gilmore, I'll be right with you," Natalie Warren, her legal representative in what might be her impending marriage, said as she tapped away at her smart phone. "I'm not usually on my phone like this in front of clients, but my kid's sick."

"Oh, no problem. I'm so grateful you squeezed me in at all," Rory said, taking a seat across the desk from the well-coiffed blonde. Her manicure looked freshly maintained as her fingers flew over the buttons.

"I've never found a good way to say no to Paris Gellar. Many have tried, I know, but I like to keep my name unsullied. I have worked hard to keep my reputation intact, and I learned early on to pick my battles with her."

"I hear you on that," Rory said with a shudder. "How exactly do you know Paris?"

"We were at Harvard together, for post-grad. She was in med school while I was getting my law degree. She actually introduced me to my ex. You?"

"We were arch enemies in high school and roommates in college," Rory disclosed. "Though I think you might have more to hate her for."

Natalie waved a hand dismissively. "I have no regrets. Without my ex, I wouldn't have my kid. Do you have kids?"

"Nope. Though, I guess that might be a consideration at some point in the future," she said, with wavering firmness.

"Right, you're here for a prenuptial agreement. You have a draft with you?"

"I do," she said, extracting the paperwork that Greg had given his blessing for her to take along with her. "He said its standard and fair, but he suggested me getting my own lawyer to look it over. He actually hasn't even proposed, but obviously he plans to."

"Without reading it first, you should know that every woman I meet has been told their agreements are standard and fair. It's smart of you to be so proactive about marriage. I wish I'd been so level-headed about it," she mused as she glanced down at the first paragraph.

"That sounds bad."

She pulled down her reading glasses and put them aside. "Not bad. We were young and impetuous. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. It's basically your perfect recipe for an unplanned pregnancy, even with two very educated twenty-somethings. But it didn't lend itself to long-term marital success."

"Is that what inspired you to focus on family law?" Rory asked, generally interested. She liked talking to people and uncovering their stories. She considered it a job hazard, one that spilled over even when she was off the clock.

"Actually, it was always my focus, before we got together. We had a pre-nup, which was a comical sight to see—two law students, one of whom was very pregnant, arguing animatedly over the contents for hours on end. I felt so bad for that stenographer."

"So you two parted amicably?"

She nodded with a wistful smile. "We're actually still good friends. We get along much better now than we did when we were married. It was him I was texting just now, he's taking care of Asher, our son. He's five and he has the chicken pox. He contracted it from his cousin while he was with his dad, and I never had it, so I'm quarantined from him and it sucks. But he's with his dad, whom he pretty much thinks hung the moon and for good reason. He's a great dad, and he's working from home and handling it all much better than I am. Sorry, again. I'm going to focus on your document now," she said with a slightly guilty laugh.

"No, it's inspiring. How many people have good relationships with their ex-spouses? I mean, if you have to split, that's the way to go."

"Spoken by a woman who's about to get married," she nodded with a grin. The smile disappeared as her eyes moved down the page, and she started making fast, if sometimes lengthy notations with a red pen. Rory found that curious enough, but then the questions started.

"Do you have a trust fund? Any family money or any other assets other than your bank account? Stocks or anything?"

"Um, I have a small amount in an IRA, through work. Other than that, nothing."

"Hmm," she said, making another note and then starting to cross through large sections of type in her angry red ink.

Rory winced, having made the same marks on an atrocious or mismanaged article a time or two in her life. "Is it that bad?"

One eyebrow rose over the frame of her eyeglasses. "It's not the worst thing I've read. It's not optimal, but I'm not done yet."

Rory sealed her lips shut. She wondered what the worst she'd ever seen was, and what had been done about it. She imagined her laughing over cocktails, telling her girlfriends horror stories and feeling very smug about her good relationship with her ex.

She also wondered if being friends with an ex included being able to bring new significant others into the mix with no weirdness. That seemed too much to ask, after once considering the other person your whole world. That led to her wondering if she considered Greg her whole world. Her world was a very big place, with lots to explore and without much to hold her back, nothing tethering her to one spot, not really. As a boyfriend, Greg played a supportive role, and she hoped as a husband, he would continue to allow her to feel that way.

It seemed like a long time before Natalie put down the prenuptial agreement and removed her glasses again, this time massaging her temples before folding her hands in front of her and addressing Rory. "I have some questions for you. I need you to be brutally honest."

"O-kay," Rory said, thoroughly freaked by the turn the conversation was taking.

"First of all, you said he hasn't proposed yet. When he does, do you plan on saying yes no matter what?"

Rory swallowed. She'd read over the paperwork, not understanding much of what it'd said. Legalese gave her a headache and she tended to gloss over it in general. Knowing that fact about Rory, Paris has insisted she see the best and sent her to get the thing verified by the very person she was now seated across from. "Well, honestly, I've only been thinking about it for about two days. I'm supposed to go see a house with him later this afternoon. I'll be on a plane to Toronto early tomorrow, and will be testing my rusty French for a week, so hopefully I'll have time to think about it later as well, but," she rambled, avoiding the answer.

"What you tell me never leaves this office. Talk to me like a girlfriend, not like he's going to find out about it later. That's the beauty of client-attorney privilege."

Rory relaxed a little at the prompting. "I was proposed to before, years ago. A guy I was in love with, and had been with for a long time. I turned him down and it ended in the blink of an eye. Ever since, the idea of being proposed to has given me hives. I thought of it being this idea that would be sprung on me, and if I made the wrong decision it meant the end of things. The way he's approached it, I think, it just hasn't been scary. Until now, that is."

Natalie smiled. "Sorry. I don't mean to scare you. But if you're going to marry him, you cannot sign this as it is now. In fact, in your best interest it has to be completely revamped and will probably through ten revisions before I'd advise you to sign it."

Fright gave way to disbelief. "Ten?"

"Based on your future earning potentials and the state of the wording currently? Yes, ten, if not fifteen."

"I can't go back and forth fifteen times with him over petty things."

"Oh, trust me, that's not including petty things," she said, further plummeting Rory's ever-dropping stomach.

"And that's not bad?"

"It's… protective in a purely one-sided manner. It was set up to ensure that his assets remain in his control no matter the nature of your split. It takes into consideration that as his wife, anything you add to the marriage will be tied into his earnings, yet anything he makes can't be considered part of your accustomed lifestyle."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. Because logically, which the law never is, if your wealth is a byproduct of his support, then the same should be true. According to this, it's one-sided. You'd be paying him alimony."

"He doesn't need me to pay him money!"

"Need? No. But it's the best way to ensure he isn't left shelling out a ton of money to you. Only an idiot would sign this," she said as she held it up, waving it slightly for emphasis.

Rory frowned. "Do women sign these things?"

"Yes."

"After you advise them not to?" Rory pressed.

Natalie continued diplomatically. "Is this because you love him? You want to marry him and you're envisioning a life with him that would never end in anything other than married bliss?"

"No, not at all. I'm just digesting this. I can't believe that he would have that kind of document drawn up."

"Chances are, he has no idea what this says. It's much more likely that he told his lawyer to draft a standard pre-nup, in a way that keeps his earnings intact. This is what I see nine times out of ten, given those circumstances."

"What happens when things go back and forth all those times?"

"Then I have satisfied clients," she answered with full confidence.

"Satisfied married clients?" Rory checked.

"I can't tell you to marry him or not. That's beyond my scope. I like you, and I feel a certain kinship given the fact we both suffered through Paris during our school years. If you want to marry him, then marry him. We'll get this sorted out. You said he hasn't proposed; that he wants you to consider the idea of marriage. He gave you this to make sure you had all the information. I wish all my clients could be as logical as that. Most of them are filled with emotion and excitement as they're living out a dream come true. They've already signed on and their hearts are set on making it work and are heartbroken to find that love comes with contingencies sometimes."

"I feel pathetic when you put it that way."

"I didn't mean that. I think maybe your dreams run bigger than getting married. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Do you think you'd ever get married again?" she asked.

"I'm sure I will. Being with my ex proved to me that even though we weren't meant to last, the institution exists for a reason. When I meet the right person, I'd like to hope it won't come down to all this crap either, but even then the lawyer in me will probably insist on it anyway."

"Maybe next time you should find someone who isn't also a lawyer," Rory quipped.

"Trust me, that's a no-brainer," Natalie laughed. "Let me draw up a new draft, and I'll send it over to his lawyer. Go look at houses and fly off to Toronto and I'll be in touch."

"I feel like you just lifted a weight off my shoulders. If only you could translate French foreign op-ed pieces that my sadistic editor sent to me, I'd think you were sent to be my guardian angel," Rory joked.

"All I know about French is the wine and the men. I don't need to speak the language to know both lead to me ending up passed out and very satisfied."

Rory's eyebrows went up. "That's not going to help me with my article."

"No, but if you ever find yourself freshly divorced, it will help you get over the aftermath. My free advice to you, before the happily-ever-after can commence."

"I appreciate that, I think."

"Doesn't your office provide you with a translator?"

"Budget cuts. I might pay a local out of my discretionary budget, it just means skipping meals. I took French in high school, but I was better at Spanish. I remember very little."

"I took Latin. I figured it would come in handy with all the legal terms. My ex speaks nearly fluent French. I'd toss you his way, but he's not exactly capable of flitting off to Toronto, since Asher's still contagious. I could give you his email, if you're really desperate."

"That's okay. I'll figure it out, I always do."

"Go focus on work. Let me do mine."

"Thank you, again, for everything. You're nothing like I thought a lawyer would be."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Rory smiled. "Good."

She left feeling secure in her outlook, should all the worst-case scenarios come to fruition. What she wasn't secure in was getting involved in anything that would lead her down that path at all. She wondered what was so wrong with being happy with how things were anyway. Everything had been so simple and easy with Greg, and as was the usual in her mind, even the idea of marriage was complicating her life already.

X-X

Greg leaned in and pulled her into his side, kissing her cheek as she joined him. She had been rushing, slightly out of breath from her dash from the taxi. She'd nearly missed her train, a combination of her meeting with Natalie running late and the fact that she almost never ventured out of the city. New York had everything she needed, and she'd fallen in love with it as she revamped her life months ago. He didn't mention her tardiness, though he'd clearly been on time, if not early.

"Wait 'til you see this place."

She disengaged from his arm and stepped into the front entry to look around. "It's grand, that's for sure. The entry is bigger than my bathroom."

"Your bathroom was designed for people who were much smaller and was never meant for two people to share," he said. "Besides, moving in together would be the start of a new life, leaving apartment living behind."

"I like my apartment," she reminded him gently.

"Yes, but you'll love this place. You can get your books out of storage."

"My mother was kidding about the climate-controlled storage unit."

"A lot of her jokes are rooted in truth, I've noticed."

Rory rolled her eyes. "My books are in her garage. It's not controlled at all, climate or otherwise."

He smiled. "Keep going. There's a lot more house to see."

She lingered, eyeing the custom woodwork and architecture of the front entry with painstaking detail. "You really want to live in Connecticut?"

"There's a shortage of homes like this in Manhattan. Trust me, I know the market."

She arched a brow at his sarcasm. "It's just so big for two people."

"We'd grow into it. And who knows how long we'd be alone."

"What's that mean exactly?" Rory asked, taken aback by the ease with which he'd uttered the last statement.

"I know, I know, I'm taking liberties and getting ahead of myself. I'm not trying to make up your mind for you, but you should know my mind is made up. I'm sold on the whole package, I can see us here, starting a family. It's a good picture."

She softened at his sincerity. "That's sweet. You're not taking liberties, I just don't know if I'm ready to have kids. Getting married is one thing. I'd marry you in a minute, but I'm going to need time to adjust to moving to Connecticut and having kids and disrupting my career."

She was being brutally honest, in such a way that she was positive that he was surely rethinking his dedication to the task at hand. Instead, he seemed to ignore her reservations altogether.

"You'd marry me in a minute?" he asked.

Her eyes went wide. She'd barely realized she said it, so she figured it must be so true. "I love you. You know that."

"I know you've told me, but it's still a very nice surprise, to hear you say that."

"It's not an answer," she said abruptly.

"I understand," he said, as he pulled her in to him again, looking very much like he was about to kiss her.

"Not only because you haven't asked," she continued softly, but resolutely. "It's a lot to consider. But I am considering it. I met with a lawyer this afternoon."

"You look worried," he commented, giving her upper arms a soft squeeze.

"I've never dealt with lawyers. She was helpful, and I know tons of people do this every day, but it felt like we were taking our relationship and breaking it down for an itemized inventory of worth."

"That's what lawyers do. Let them handle all that. All that matters is what we want and how we feel, right?"

"I guess so, yeah," she said with a tentative smile. "So, there's a lot more to see here?"

He pressed his lips into her hair. "Wait until you see the master bedroom's closet. You'll be the envy of every other woman in the hemisphere."

"That must be some closet," she agreed.

"I told you, it's important you get to see the whole package."

"I'm definitely widening my view."

He caught some tone in her voice. "Do you like the view?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she pressed her palm into his chest. "It might take some getting used to, that's all."

"Well, you'll have your whole trip to think, and a little while after that. I won't rush the issue."

"I'll be spending the whole trip falling woefully behind in conversations of rapidly spoken French."

"You'll do great. You always do."

She stepped away from him, into the interior of the house, but kept her head turned to gaze at him slyly. "You're biased. You want to marry me."

"In fact I do," he agreed, as he followed after her.


	2. Chapter 2

Legal Advisement

Chapter Two

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

AN: Thanks for the lovely feedback on the start of the story. Life is still chaotic, so at this rate I'm attending to whatever story speaks to me loudest. This chapter has actual Trory interaction, though most of you were correct in guessing how he fits in, in general terms. I got a kick out how many people disliked Greg so much. Enjoy!

* * *

Thanks to late interviews and odd travel connections, she'd found about three hours to cobble together to sleep the night before, bringing Rory's total for the week up to a whopping 28 hours. At that point she yawned approximately every five minutes, which made for interviews full of asking to be pardoned _en Français_ and ensured no chance her mind ever had either the inclination or power to mull over personal issues.

What she longed to do was turn her phone off and lounge in bed for a good day and a half followed by some quality time spent under the hot spray of her shower, with its good water pressure and her favorite body wash.

All she'd managed to do was nap on the cab ride from the airport to her apartment after almost leaving one of her bags in baggage claim, napped on her couch for a couple of hours in lieu of climbing under her bed sheets—knowing the temptation to remain there despite her commitments would be too great—and jumped into the shower before it got up to temperature in hopes that the cold water would jolt her into something resembling normal human alertness.

Her hair was still damp as she stepped off the elevator, and the ends were curling in a haphazard manner. She wasn't concerned about the fact that her wardrobe choices had dwindled down to what was clean in her closet after being busy for a month and gone for over a week on top of that. She wore a white tee shirt that her mother had given her that said FRAK across the chest under a heather grey blazer, and jeans she bought two years prior and had worn in to the point they were more comfy than her favorite yoga pants. Had she been going anywhere other than Natalie's office to go over the first round of changes to be signed off on the prenuptial agreement that would shape her union with Greg, she might have cared more about her appearance.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she entered the bathroom that was common to the whole floor of offices of professional services, her morning coffee already having run through her system and left her jonesing for a second, third, and fourth. She pulled her phone out after she wiped her hands dry at the sink.

"Hey, you."

"You got in okay?" Greg asked, no doubt from his office. He'd had an early morning and was even more punctual than she was.

She smiled at his concern. "Yes, at four this morning. I would have called, but I didn't want to wake the people lucky enough to get a full night's sleep."

"I still wish I could have picked you up. I've missed you."

She smiled at his sentiment. "Me too."

"Dinner tonight?"

"Maybe. Since I'm out, I'm going to stop by the store and pick up food that isn't spoiled, and do a few thousand loads of laundry while I pare down my notes. If I make it to dinner, it might have to be the early-bird variety."

He groaned. "I won't be able to get away until late tonight."

"It's fine, really. I'll still miss you tomorrow."

"It's a date."

Rory hung up and made her way down to the reception area of Natalie's office. The secretary that had been there at her first visit was nowhere to be seen, though the desk chair was occupied. A young boy that looked to be roughly five years old sat behind the desk, using the mouse and staring intently at the computer screen. He had a few scabbed sores on his face and arms, but he made no move to scratch at his skin. Rory cocked her head and smiled at him, the little blue-eyed blonde, glad for Natalie to have her son back.

The office phone rang, pulling the boy from his computer fixation, and he picked up the receiver that was far too large for his hands and head. The size difference didn't stop him from answering.

"Natalie Warren's office."

Rory held back a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. She stayed near the door, not wanting to startle the child. She didn't have to hide her presence long, as she heard a door open and shut, and a man crossed the room to lean against the desk. He held out his hand to the child, who responded by offering the phone receiver. Once he'd taken a proper message and replaced it to the base, he squatted down to fall to eye level with the boy.

"What did we say about the phones at Mom and Dad's offices?" he asked patiently.

The child didn't appear repentant. "I was trying to help."

"I know, but until you're old enough to write down messages, it's better to let the voice mail pick up."

"I can write my name."

"I know."

"My whole name. And Mommy's name."

"Her name isn't really Mommy, though. Remember?"

"I can spell that, too. My name has part of hers and part of yours in it."

"That's because you're part of me and part of her."

"That's what Mommy said."

"Mommy's smart. You want to go tell her that before we take off?"

"Yeah!"

Asher slid out of the seat and ran to his mother's office, not pausing to knock as he threw the door open. Rory yawned, an uncontrollable reflex at that point, and the slight noise startled Natalie's ex-husband. He turned and stared at her. He'd looked familiar in profile, but looking at him dead on she realized he was more than just Natalie's ex-husband.

"_Excusez-moi_, I mean, sorry. I was just… I have an appointment," she offered lamely. "You're his dad?"

"So says his birth certificate," he said agreeably. "You're here to see Natalie?"

Rory nodded, feeling foolish in a way she hadn't in a long time. She'd skipped her five-year school reunion, and hadn't she seen any of her old classmates since leaving the confines of high school and entering the real world with the exception of Paris. Her vanity was strong enough to wish she was wearing a more flattering outfit and wasn't waiting to see a lawyer for any reason upon running into anyone from her past. "Do you remember me?"

He smiled then, before answering. In fact, his smile was such that it was an answer of its own. It was measured and delighted in a way that made her deflect her gaze and shift her weight. "It's been a while, but I have a pretty good memory."

"Even still. Some people are more memorable than others," she supplied.

"That they are," he agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stood just a few feet from her. They'd fallen into a silent stalemate, as she wasn't sure quite what to make of his comeback and she wasn't keen on explaining her business with Natalie.

"You're taking your son?" she asked finally.

"Dropping him off at school," he supplied. "Can I get you something?"

"Huh?" she asked, hoping her suddenly feeble mind was the result of lack of sleep and not due to stumbling upon the last person on earth she might have guessed to pop up in her life that morning.

"Something to drink? There's coffee," he suggested.

"Oh, sure. Coffee would be great, if you don't mind. I just got back into town and it's pretty much the only thing keeping me upright this morning."

"Work or pleasure?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, finding the way the word pleasure rolled off his tongue highly distracting. She squeezed her eyes shut, quick and hard, feeling them burn behind her eyelids. "Oh, right. Work. I was in Toronto, trying to remember more French than how to introduce myself and ask for the bathroom."

"_Et avez-vous réussi_?"

She blinked at him as he handed her a warm cup of coffee, their fingers brushing upon the exchange. "Did I… what?"

He smiled again, this time out of amusement. "I'll take that as a no."

"I used my tape recorder and bribed a translator that was working with another reporter to do double duty and help me during the press conferences."

"You weren't provided a translator of your own?" he asked, intrigued at her description.

"Budget cuts. I was too busy to eat, anyway," she added.

"You didn't eat on your trip?"

"I got donuts at Tim Horton's across from the Convention Centre," she said. "I got them for the translator, but he didn't like the Maple bars."

He pursed his lips. "Alright then."

She sipped her coffee. "They had lunch provided most days, for all the press. Mainly I skipped dinner, but I was too busy trying to push chunks of text through a translation app to eat."

"Wasn't any of it in English?" he asked.

She nodded with a mouthful of coffee. "Yes, some of it was. The moderator offered the opening and closing comments in English and French, but most of the debates were in rapid and shout-y French."

He smiled again. "And your article is due when?"

"Friday."

"And you're going to put how many hours of debates through some app?"

"Six hours of debates and another twenty of interviews. Most of it is done, which why I haven't slept."

He stared at her with a mix of dismay and alarm. "I'm sorry, but are you insane?"

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"You need help."

She stiffened in offense. "I do not."

"It's not a bad thing, to ask for help. You're okay seeking legal counsel, why not get help with this?"

"My need for legal counsel is none of your concern," she said hastily.

"I didn't say it was," he said in that easy tone he'd used with his son. "I was going to offer to help you with your translations, not take over your case."

"I have it covered."

Now he had the audacity to appear amused. "Really? Because it sounds to me like you're putting a lot of stock in a guy that is swayed by doughnuts and some program meant to translate a few words at a time."

"My resources are fine, and besides, I excel under pressure."

"Without food or sleep?" he checked.

"If need be. My work is the most important thing in my life."

He stared at her as if she were some kind of exotic animal on display. "If that's true, then having someone double check the translation would only help your work. Then why won't you let me help you?"

"I don't need your help," she reiterated.

"You're that sure some app can handle that much conversational French?"

"Why are you pressing this?" she inquired, her exhaustion now at a frenzied level.

He held up his hands, backing away. "I was just offering to help. Consider the matter dropped."

She straightened her jacket. "Thank you."

He eyed her chest as he clothes shifted, not bothering to hide the action. "Nice shirt."

Her cheeks blazed, from what she perceived as a sarcastic slight and the fact that he was in all essence just staring at her boobs with possible x-ray vision. She wasn't sure just what his superpowers were, but she knew from ancient history that he had the power to drive her crazy enough to act out of character. She was already low on reserves, and her retort was a long time forming. So instead she stood there, pink cheeked and open mouthed, looking indignant for sure until the little boy returned, bounding toward his father. Tristan reached out and caught the child, pulling him up to his hip with a practiced ease.

"Rory? Is it eight already?" Natalie asked, as she followed her son out of her office. "We were just swapping Ash here. Rory Gilmore, this is my ex, Tristan Dugrey."

"We've met," Tristan replied smoothly, giving no indication that their interaction had been anything other than polite.

"He got you coffee, good. Come on in," she said, ushering Rory toward her office, but not before placing one last kiss on her son's cheek. "Thanks again for doing this."

Rory heard Tristan's voice. "Not a problem. He has soccer after school."

"I remember. I have all his stuff in my office, ready to go."

The boys left then, and Natalie returned to the office, ready to do business. "It really is unusual, for my personal life to be handled here at the office. I know it must seem like I'm being pulled in all directions to you."

Rory was still reeling from her lawyer's ex being Tristan Dugrey of all people. Her one-time classmate, her one-time nemesis, her one-time kiss. He had come into her life suddenly and been removed from it just as quickly as he'd entered, and it had never occurred to her that he might make a reappearance in her life. She liked to move on from the past, learn from the experiences, and make clean breaks. Her break with him hadn't been very clean, looking back on it. She wasn't sure if she could name anything she'd learned from Tristan in the past, save for her fondness of nicknames that were the result of inside jokes—something she'd rebuffed at first and he had been the one to win her over with. Other men since had labeled her with such monikers, but he had been the first.

"You said you were quarantined from your son for a while, I'm sure you're relieved to get to spend time with him."

"You have no idea. Tristan's reworked his schedule yet again, to allow me an extra week with Asher. I swear, sometimes I forget why we got divorced," she said with a slight laugh. "Now, getting down to business—has he popped the question yet? I'm thinking no, because you're not wearing a ring."

Rory held up her still unadorned hand. "No. I just got in a couple of hours ago. We'll see each other soon, but it'd be nice to catch up on sleep before he whips out a ring and asks me a life-changing question."

Natalie nodded. "Well, I've made a number of changes to the agreement," she said, starting to outline the hundreds of changes to the pages she'd left in her care, and Rory's mind swam hard to keep at the surface and pay attention. She kept flashing on Tristan's offer to help her and the way he'd smiled when she said she recognized him. It was all she could do, given her exhaustion, hunger, and distraction to get through the hour.

-X-

Some people bemoaned the trend of there being a coffeehouse on every corner, but Rory for one felt the need to show her appreciation by stopping and patronizing as many as possible. The nearest one to Natalie's office was a whole half a block away, which was coincidentally as far as she could walk without needing to rest at that point. She ordered a cinnamon roll big enough to feed half of her hometown and the biggest size of their dark roast offered on the menu and turned to find a table. She had her headphones and her laptop and hopes that once she got sustenance she could eek out a little work before returning to do laundry while she did even more work. Her deadline loomed with a vague idea of how she wanted to structure her article, but still with far too much work to do.

The shop was surprisingly full, mostly of single people taking up entire tables for two to four people. Right near the window, she saw a man reading a newspaper, the only physical piece of print material in the whole joint, sipping coffee. Everyone else was plugged into electronics—music players, laptops, smart phones, but he was right out of the dark ages with newsprint smudged on his hands from holding the edges and turning the pages. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket and started do to the crossword. She walked over and pulled out a chair across from his.

"Mind if I sit?"

He eyed her obscenely large pastry. "Are you willing to share? I have it on good authority you've been known to share breakfast pastries in trade for things you need."

"You want part of my cinnamon roll for a seat at your table?"

His lips curled up as he rested his gaze on his paper. "Is there something else you'd like to offer instead?"

"What are you even doing here?"

He sipped his coffee, in no rush to answer her. "I just dropped Asher off at his school, which is up the street."

"Don't you have to work?"

He put the paper down. "If you must know, I took the morning off to be a dad, and because my afternoon meetings will run into this evening. Don't you have to work?"

She shrugged her shoulder, heavy with her bag. "I brought it along."

"So you want to sit with me and ignore me the entire time we're sharing a table?" he asked.

"It's not like it's we'd planned to hang out; you've got your paper and I've got my article to form. Besides, I find it hard to believe that anyone has ever been able to ignore you at all, least of all while sharing a confined space with you."

He settled back in his chair and considered her plight. "Half the cinnamon roll and pleasant conversation."

"What?"

"That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

"You're negotiating for a seat in a public establishment?"

"I paid for my coffee. I was here first. If you want to join me, that's my offer."

"Fine," she muttered, acting put out. She pushed the plate into the middle of the table and got out her laptop. She took a big gulp out of her coffee while she waited for it to boot up. "So, your kid. He's cute."

"He's blessed with good genes," he allowed. "And I'm not just bragging about my contribution. Most of what people praise him for comes straight from his mom."

"Natalie's great," she agreed. "I don't know her outside of a professional setting, but she seems like a good person. She definitely knows her stuff."

"How did you find her?" he asked casually.

"Oh, Paris referred me. I didn't have time to search myself, because of work, and Paris has these lists of the top professionals in almost every field, so I called her."

He gave a snort. "Funny. That's how I met Natalie. Not for professional advice, but through Paris. She was in this weird play put on by the med students, and Natalie's roommate was in this mime performance that Paris directed and stared in, in which they performed a kidney operation from the point of view of the other kidney. It was bizarre," he remembered with a furrowed brow.

"I can't even imagine," she said honestly. "But it does make for an interesting story."

He nodded. "Yeah, I suppose it does."

"She told me you met through Paris. She was kind enough to leave out the story about the play."

"She has a better filter than I do," he said honestly. "What's Natalie working on for you?"

She bristled. It was something she didn't want to have to explain to anyone, least of all him. "A, um, pre-nup."

He didn't hide his surprise. "Really?"

"You don't have to sound so shocked. More than one man has proposed to me."

"That's not a shock. I just noticed you weren't wearing a ring."

"Oh," she said, feeling foolish and once again looking at her bare finger. "Well, he hasn't officially proposed."

"But you like to be ready for when he does? That must be some massive fortune you're out to protect. Let me guess, rare first editions?"

"You wouldn't understand," she denounced quickly. "I really should get some work done."

"Don't let me stop you," he said, unwinding a long stretch of cinnamon roll. He blew on it lightly and popped it into his mouth. "Hey, do you know a six-letter word for a mechanism of the immature mind?"

"Very funny," she balked.

He held out his crossword. "Thirty-five down."

"Oh. Denial."

He laughed and pointed the capped end of his pen at her. "Are you in denial?"

"What? No, not at all. What I am is very busy. I have a deadline, a potential fiancé, and a million other things to deal with."

"You should try the cinnamon roll. It's still warm and the icing's just the right consistency."

"Wow, there's a segue," she muttered.

"You don't seem to want to talk about you. I figured the cinnamon roll was common territory."

She reached out and tore a chunk off. He was right, which she wasn't going to admit aloud. She chewed and wondered if anything other than the food would be a safe topic for them to discuss. The weather perhaps. Paris' general insanity. She was tapped after that.

"What about you?" she asked after she finished her bite.

"What about me?"

"Are you comfortable just opening up about your private life?"

"You already know I have a son and an ex-wife."

"Yes, but not because you shared it with me."

"What else do you want to know?" he asked, oddly patient with her.

She tossed up a hand. "I don't know—how did you become to be so fluent in French?"

He nodded and took another piece of the roll. "My mother insisted on me taking all these different lessons when I was young. She had me in painting classes, dance, and of course, French. She was insistent that I not only be educated, but refined to suit her tastes."

Her eyes lit up. "So you paint and dance as well?"

He laughed. "I have an appreciation for art, but I'm no Monet."

"What about dancing?"

"I'm good enough," he shrugged.

"What kind of dance did you take?" she asked, amused at the thought of him wearing any kind of specialized dance outfit.

He shook his head. "I think I've given enough answers for now. If you want to know more, turnabout rules apply."

She rolled her eyes. "I took years of dance lessons and I'm terrible."

He smirked. "You like to lead, right?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't have to justify myself to you."

"No, you don't. But don't think I didn't notice that you tried to cheat me out of my question."

"I did no such thing."

"I asked for pleasant conversation, not an argument."

She pressed her lips shut, clamping down on the urge to blame him for said squabble. "Ask whatever you wish."

"Just how many men have proposed to you?"

His question startled her and she nearly choked on her coffee. "Um, what?"

"You said more than one man's proposed to you. I was just wondering what the magic number was."

"Technically, only one… has. But one plans to, which will bring the total to two," she said, each word sounding lamer than the one before it. She cursed herself for not living more in the moment, for not telling Greg that's she'd say yes, and prompting him to be more spontaneous as well. Then she'd have a ring on her finger and be working this angle from the proper direction.

"Interesting," he mused, glancing down at his crossword again.

"It's not all that interesting at all, actually," she said primly, as if nearly being engaged twice in less than ten years' time was just par for every woman's life. She knew only of her own experience, in that regard. If she cared to report on other people's love lives, she'd be working for Page Six or one of the many gossip magazines. She might have a lurid blog that raked in tons of advertising money as people checked to see if the latest it couple was on again or off again.

"Did the other proposal result in an engagement?"

"What do you think? Obviously I said no to him, or else I wouldn't be with someone else."

"That's not true. Lots of people get engaged and never exchange vows."

She considered that for a moment. "That's awfully sad, isn't it?"

"It's just life," he said. "Why should engagements be any different than marriages? People grow apart, or never move past where they are, or whatever."

"Or whatever?" she mimicked.

He looked at her sharply. "If you want a full list, I'm sure Natalie would be happy to help you. She knows a lot about it."

"Why did you two split up?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee while she waited for him to answer.

"According to our divorce agreement, we had irreconcilable differences."

"That covers a whole host of sins, doesn't it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "In fact, it does. In our case, simply put, we weren't happy and we had very different views on how to achieve happiness. I suggested we get away together, and she suggested we get different apartments."

"Would you rather go back to taking about dance lessons?" she asked quietly.

He remained contemplative, but on point. "I wanted to make it work, mostly for Asher's sake. She put her foot down and said it would be worse for him if we stayed together and were miserable, than if we separated and he had two happy parents that just didn't live together anymore."

"I can't really offer an opinion on the matter. My parents were never married, not when I was young."

"Did you ever wish they were?"

Rory nodded. "Sure, of course. But I also wished that Mom was married to George Michael or Pee-Wee Herman."

He hesitated at her choice in dream fathers. "Big Wham! fan, were you?"

She laughed. "My point is that kids come up with all kinds of crazy notions of what they wish their lives might be like, no matter how happy their lives are. I had a great childhood, even without my dad around, or Pee-Wee for that matter. And Asher has both of you, so he'll be fine."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I have a long list of my old behaviors I'd like him to avoid."

She opened her mouth in feigned shock. "You are ashamed of something you did?"

"Not ashamed," he corrected. "But there were times that I went about things the wrong way."

"That is a list I'd love to hear," she said, leaning in with her hand resting on her chin.

He shook his head. "My turn."

"Oh, come on. Just one?"

He fixed her with a look that told her he wasn't going to grant that request. "Are you going to say yes to your current gentleman friend, when he does ask?"

"You mean my boyfriend?" she asked, laughing at his odd posing.

"Are you?" he asked again, not joining in her amusement.

She felt a flash of sobriety, uncertainty, and something far harder to name flood through her, from head to toe. She sat back, her taste for the sweet pastry gone now. "I don't know."

His eyes flashed at her honesty, and she regretted the admission. She wasn't sure of his reason for asking, but in their vein of catching up on the past it seemed out of place. Talking about things that happened long ago, or at least things that weren't so immediate, that had felt safe. This had taken quite a turn from the pleasant conversation he'd requested.

"I didn't mean to pry," he said as the tension remained.

"Yes, you did. And it's okay."

"Not if I upset you," he argued.

"You didn't. Really, I'm fine," she said, doing her best to look as she claimed to feel.

"If I did, I'm sorry," he said with enough sincerity to move her. She opened her eyes a little wider, to fend off the moisture that she could feel gathering.

"It's okay. But I really should get going. I never have been able to focus in public places."

"Not even libraries?"

"Are you kidding? With all those books, just begging to be read? Libraries are quiet, but still a huge temptation," she said.

Her answer yet again amused him, and he started to gather his things as well, putting his pen away in his jacket and refolding his paper to tuck it under his arm. "Are you going uptown or downtown?"

"Uptown," she answered. "Why?"

"Me too. Split a cab?"

"First a cinnamon roll, then a cab," she said, considering the offer. "That's a lot of sharing."

"Not for old friends," he reasoned.

"Is that what we are?" she asked, trying the description on and finding it somehow lacking.

"Hell if I know. We were something. At least, we weren't nothing."

"I guess the term old friends requires less of an explanation."

"And as your old friend, the offer to help you brush up on your French stands," he added.

"I think just the cab will do. I trust my translator, I think the doughnuts and the cash were capable motivators. Just as cinnamon rolls are to you."

"I'm not motivated by cinnamon rolls," he said in a measured manner, rounding the table to pass her and open the door for the both of them.

She gazed up at him, the differences in their heights showcased as she stood near him. "What are you motivated by, then?"

His smile widened, cluing her into his answer before he said it. "The usual things."

Her expression displayed her frustration; her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. He retained his smile, looking not in the least bit concerned about the effect his words had on her.

"What?" he asked.

"I just don't find it appropriate, I guess," she said, shifting the weight of her bag as he held up a hand to hail a cab. A few with fares passed them.

"You find what inappropriate, exactly?"

"I'm practically engaged," she spurted out, making him turn his head to fixate on her.

"Go on," he said, almost daring her. His reaction gave her pause, but she'd been raised to see out idiotic fits of speech.

"And my lawyer was your wife," she said, disappointed in the punch the delivered words held. It all seemed very taboo in her mind. It hadn't occurred to her that the build-up was all in her head.

"And as your lawyer, she will tell you that being practically engaged holds no ground in a court of law, where as being divorced is a wholly recognized legal state."

"I don't need anyone to explain that to me, thank you," she said.

"Then why are you explaining it to me? Because I understand why I'm not married anymore. Do you understand why you're not engaged yet?"

She put her hand on her hip. "I don't have to explain that to you."

"No, you don't. But I get the feeling that you couldn't explain it if you wanted to."

"That's not true," she stated adamantly, with a dash of petulance thrown in.

"Like I said, you don't have to explain it to me. But you should at least have something more convincing lined up when you decide you don't like the terms of the pre-nup and turn the guy down."

"My uncertainty has nothing to do with the pre-nup!" she shouted at him, garnering fewer looks from passersby than she might have expected in any other town than New York.

He pointed a finger at her. "See, now that I believe."

"Why's that?"

"You always hated money," he said. "I can't believe him promising any sum would make up for any future indiscretions."

"I don't hate money. And he isn't promising me any. But now that you mention it, I do hate hashing over details of how he might cheat on me, or I might cheat on him. It's hard to enter into a marriage with all that hanging over your head."

"Funny. I never would have pegged you for a pie-in-the-sky romantic."

"I'm not," she asserted.

"Marriage is more than going out to dinner and seeing shows and having a date on holidays."

"You're going to enlighten me on marriage?"

"You seem like you could use some guidance."

She flushed. "I have legal guidance, thank you very much. If it bothers you that it happens to be your ex-wife, that's not my problem."

"No, your problem is that you're seeking out legal advice on marriage."

"What kind of advice were you going to offer me?"

A cab stopped and he opened the door. "You know what, never mind. I'm sure you're smart enough to figure it out without my help, just like the French. I assume you don't want to split a cab. You take this one, I'll wait for another."

She bit her lip. "No, I mean, you hailed it, you take it."

"Rory, you're exhausted and you're running on half a cinnamon roll and coffee. Get in the damn cab and go get some rest."

His eyes met hers with no room for argument. "Okay."

"Good luck with your article," he said before he shut the door. The cabbie was already pulling away before she had a chance to respond. She was too shell-shocked from their encounter to do anything but stare at him for the brief second he was still outside her window.

"Thank you," she said as she slumped against the backseat.

"You're welcome. Where to, lady?"

She looked up to see the cab driver's eyes on her from the rear-view mirror. She gave her address and decided that her deadline would be easier to reach after she took an extended nap. If she was tired before, her interaction with Tristan had left her exhausted.


	3. Chapter 3

Legal Advisement

Chapter Three

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

Her closet was emptied of shoes, most of which were lying discarded on her floor around her bed after she'd tried them on to see how they paired with her dress. Her hair was half up and half down, after being down, up, down, and up again. The surfaces of her apartment that weren't covered in clothes were littered with French dictionaries, reference books, and print outs of the first six drafts of her article. She was leaning over her mirror, applying lipstick, when an idea struck her. She went back to version five of her article and sorted through until she found the paragraph she was looking for. She picked up a highlighter in her free hand and started to color in the point she wanted to clarify.

She jumped and gave a quiet yelp when someone knocked at her door. She hurried to the door in her very high heels and opened it.

Greg glanced at the contents of her hands. "I'm glad you went with the red," he said, pointing to the lipstick.

She lifted up the highlighter. "It isn't really my shade," she joked. "I was going over my article."

"Again? You're not done yet?" he asked.

"It isn't quite right. I have until noon tomorrow."

He was crestfallen. "You want to cancel dinner?"

"No! I'm just making a note. I'm ready to go. Unless I don't look okay," she said, glancing down at her outfit yet again with an overly skeptical eye.

Greg stepped forward and kissed her. "You look spectacular. Though I admit I was hoping for a whole night together."

"Tomorrow night, I promise. I'll meet deadline and forget about this story."

He didn't look convinced. "I doubt that, but it once it's to print you won't be able to do much about it."

She grinned brilliantly. "There are always retractions."

"You're a woman obsessed."

"Guilty as charged. Let's go have dinner."

She left her work behind, physically if not mentally, as they emerged into the city. It was the second time they'd gone out since her return from Toronto, and the first night she'd been a nervous wreck, obsessing over preparations and on the edge of her seat through the meal. Tonight wasn't much different, as she figured that with every passing day they were closer to him asking her the inevitable question. He hadn't brought marriage up, even casually, even after she mentioned that she'd met with Natalie about the pre-nup.

She'd left out the part about having coffee with Tristan, in fact she had failed to mention Tristan to Greg at all. She'd gone over their conversations, trying to pinpoint just what about Tristan had left her so unsettled after talking to him. He'd done nothing out of the ordinary, at least as far as what she could remember of his normal behavior. She'd always found him a little irritating, a little too personal, and a little too tempting to ignore. She'd decided she was upset that he'd nailed her most personal of problems; her uncertainty about her reaction to the idea of Greg proposing. She wanted to be ready for marriage, and she didn't want to be a woman who would run from that type of commitment her entire life. She was growing weary of starting over after long-term relationships, and she knew eventually she would have to face her fears. She would be ready when Greg proposed—and she would definitely prove Tristan wrong.

After they'd ordered drinks and were left to peruse the menu, the likes of which made it difficult to narrow her selection to a single entrée, Greg put his menu aside and reached for her hand.

She abandoned the menu as well and fought the urge to drain her water glass to simply dampen her mouth. "This place is amazing."

He nodded. "I found the space for the owner about six month ago."

She murmured appreciatively. "That's how we got the good table."

"It's worth calling in favors, to get to enjoy a night out with you."

"You don't need to call in favors to take me out. You know I'm happy ordering take-out and watching whatever's on the DVR."

"That's no way to celebrate," he said meaningfully.

"We're celebrating?" she asked, feeling her nerves wind up yet again.

He nodded with excitement. "I know we talked about it in general terms before you went to Toronto, but I couldn't wait any longer."

Her heart was racing fast enough to make her feel dizzy even while seated. Her tongue felt encrusted in sawdust. "You couldn't?"

"Sometimes you have to go with your gut, when you know something's right. I put in an offer on the house in Greenwich this afternoon."

It took her a minute to switch gears. "You bought a house today?"

"I put in an offer. I hear there are other bids, but I came in strong. I should know for certain by tomorrow night."

"Oh. I wasn't aware you were looking to move so quickly."

"If I didn't move quickly, I might have lost the house," he reasoned. "And I loved it. You loved it too, didn't you?"

She nodded, distracted. "It's a good house."

"You're thinking about your article," he guessed.

"No, I mean, a little. I'm trying to enjoy the break."

"We can go. We can celebrate properly tomorrow—your article will be done, and we'll have a contract on the house, with any luck."

"We just got here, we should eat," she offered.

"You're dying to finish that article. It's okay, you're dedicated to your job. I respect that."

She was filled with relief, though she wasn't keen on discovering the source of that feeling. "You're wonderful for understanding."

He dropped her off, but didn't come up, knowing the minute she stepped in the door she'd be immersed in work and more distracted than she already was. She'd told him she hoped he got the house, and that they'd make definite plans the following afternoon. She was immersed, staring at the paragraph that she'd attempted to work around three times already and was marked up with yellow highlighter. On a lark, she did a quick Google search, found the information she was seeking, and picked up her phone.

"Tristan Dugrey."

"Hi. It's Rory. Gilmore," she added, her nerves once again ignited. Instead of fearing what he might say, she was keenly aware of how idiotic the words coming from her mouth sounded.

"Hello, Rory Gilmore. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

There was that word again. It was distracting to the point that she wondered if he practiced saying it that way for maximum distraction value. "Uh, actually, I was hoping maybe I could buy you coffee."

There was silence on the line. She tapped her foot and spoke again. "Hello?"

"I'm here. I'm trying to decide if you're asking me out or trying to bribe me for another favor."

"It's not a bribe."

"So, it's a date?" he asked, sounding more wary than hopeful.

"No. It's a brief interaction where we drink coffee together and maybe you look at a few of my notes."

He sighed. "That is specifically classified as a favor."

"It would be faster if you just said no, if that's what you're getting at."

"I'm not saying no, I'm clarifying your request. When did you want to get this coffee?"

"Tonight. Now."

"Do you always drink coffee after ten in the evening?"

"Not always. I don't really have a timetable for drinking coffee. When I'm thirsty, I drink."

"You can't drink coffee at night. No wonder you never sleep."

She shouldn't have been so surprised that their conversation had devolved into his disapproval of her actions. "I sleep just fine, normally. Things weren't exactly normal the last time I saw you."

"Look, I'll meet you and look at your notes, but no coffee. I get little enough sleep as it is."

"I'm not coming to your apartment for a nightcap," she said adamantly, surprising herself with her vehemence.

"I wasn't going to suggest my place. There's a bar near my office."

"You're still at work?"

"Aren't you working right now?"

"I'm on deadline."

"So am I. Do you want help or not?"

She paused for a beat. "Yes," she agreed sheepishly.

"Okay then. It's called Ike's, it's on Columbus Avenue."

"I can be there in about a half an hour," she said, grabbing her keys and stuffing the notes she needed into her big bag.

"I'll be at the bar," he said and hung up. She wanted to get the article done and she'd convinced herself that meeting with Tristan was the only way she was going to feel confident about finishing the piece. Once that was done, she could focus on Greg, and the house, and the engagement. Maybe she'd even take some time off. She had vacation accrued, which made sense seeing as she'd never taken any since starting with the paper. It would come in handy, if she was going to move. To Connecticut. She sighed as she grabbed her keys. One thing at a time, that was going to be her new motto.

-X-

He'd ordered for her, she noticed as an untouched glass full of deep brown liquid with a dusted rim sat next to his half-full tumbler. He was drinking straight liquor that was diluted only by ice. "What's that?"

He turned to her and scanned her from head to toe. She hadn't changed from her incomplete dinner date. Her stomach grumbled, as if finally getting the memo that she'd not eaten her third square of the day. "It's for you. You'll like it. It has coffee in it. Consider it a compromise."

She sat down on the stool next to him, her bag of work dropped between them on the floor. She took a small sip of the drink and put her hand to her mouth, sealing the experience. "That's incredible."

"I thought you'd appreciate it. So, is there some kind of black-tie mandate at your office?"

"This old thing?" she teased. "I was supposed to go to dinner."

"Must have been some dinner."

"Actually, we didn't get to eat. Does this place have good food?"

Tristan waved at the bartender. "Can we get an order of the tacos?"

The bartender nodded and walked off. "Tacos?" she echoed.

"Trust me."

She didn't argue, and the moment made her uncomfortable. She busied herself with her bag. "I've been writing this damn thing all week, and I couldn't figure out what was bothering me. It hit me, just before Greg showed up, that there was this one part that I thought incumbent was making a reference to something being lost, but then it hit me that I wasn't sure about the meaning the word order had on his statement. Here's the whole transcript, word for word."

Tristan took the papers from her hand. "It says they lack passion in their beliefs. He's implying that the opposing party is full of words but no action."

"I thought he was saying they were misplacing their passion. Like they were hyped up about the wrong issues. My article would have sucked," she said with a sigh, taking a big gulp of her drink. "That is really good."

He handed her back her papers, their fingers brushing in the exchange. "Your doughnut guy didn't catch that?"

"It was something I'd done myself, a simple verb look up, or so I thought. But it kept gnawing at me."

"Rookie mistake," he shrugged. "Greg will be upset that he missed out on you in that dress for a confused verb conjugation."

"He saw the dress," she corrected.

"And he let you take off to meet another guy at a bar after he saw you in that dress?"

"To be fair, I wanted to get coffee, not meet in a bar."

His expression was set, not dissuaded by her choice of drink or venue. "My point still stands."

"You have no point. Greg understood that I needed to work. He's considerate."

"No man is that considerate. And if you drink any faster and you won't be able to walk out here, let alone work on your article."

"You ordered tacos. That's my magic drunk food. I could have five of these, and four tacos will sober me right up."

He stared at her blankly. "Did you just say magic drunk food?"

She rolled her eyes. "I want to thank you for helping me. I realize I wasn't very nice to you when you offered before."

He shook his glass to rearrange the ice. "No, you weren't."

"I'm sorry."

He leaned in across the bar, his elbow brushing hers. "In that dress, you're forgiven."

She blushed immediately. "I didn't wear this for forgiveness."

His eyes dipped over her neckline again. "You wore it for something."

"I wore it for Greg."

He met her eyes. "Too bad he's not here."

"Can I tell you something, without you judging me or trying to give me advice?"

He nodded solemnly. "Go ahead."

"Every time I go out with him, since he told me he wanted to marry me, I'm sort of terrified that he's going to propose. Tonight, I started to get lightheaded at dinner over drinks, but it turned out that he wasn't proposing, he was just telling me he'd put a bid on a house."

"A house?"

She nodded. "In Greenwich."

"I can't see you in Greenwich."

She finished her drink with a wince as the alcohol hit her. "Me either. Wait, where can you see me?"

He held up his hands. "Sorry. I was to have no opinion."

"Right. I mean, it's stupid, really, to get so worked up about it. He's going to do it when he's ready, and I'll just deal. I'll know what I want in the moment. I can live in the moment. I don't have to think things to death all the time."

His eyes suggested he had something to say, but he kept his word by only speaking to order her a refill.

"I shouldn't," she protested weakly.

"Tacos are coming," he reminded her.

"Oh. Right. Tacos."

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

She shrugged, looking down into the dregs of her empty glass. "You were the one asking me how many times I'd been proposed to."

"I thought you wanted me to butt out of your business."

"I told you I wasn't myself earlier this week. I was exhausted and hungry and my brain was French-fried."

Her lame joke wasn't lost on him, or in the very least he was polite enough to give her a half-smile. "You're pouring out your heart as a peace offering?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just need someone to talk to. Someone impartial."

"Isn't that what you're paying Natalie for?"

"You said I needed advice about marriage that wasn't legal in nature, remember?"

He sucked air in through his teeth. "I stand by that opinion. But you didn't want my advice, remember?"

The bartender slid her refill in front of her with one hand and put a plate of tiny tacos between them. Tristan thanked him by name and pushed the plate just an inch closer to her. He tossed his tie over his shoulder and picked one up.

"Those don't look very greasy."

He turned to look at her. "Where the hell do you usually eat?"

She ignored him and took a bite. "Oh my God," she said, still chewing. "That's the best taco I've ever had."

"And what with your discerning palate," he teased.

She ignored his jab and finished chewing thoughtfully. "It's just… you were married. You decided, at some point, that you wanted to be married to another person."

"You can't compare the situations. I was young, and the woman I was in love with was pregnant."

"You only proposed because you got her pregnant?" Rory asked, her judgment evident in her voice.

"I didn't say that. I was telling you the situation surrounding when I decided I wanted to be married. I was in love with Natalie, and we'd been together long enough that when she got pregnant, I knew I wanted to help her make decisions, so she wouldn't have to make choices that she might regret, or that I would regret it myself."

"Like what?"

"Like dropping out of school to raise a kid by herself, or worrying that I might support her for a little while then suddenly drop out of their lives. I loved her, and I knew I wanted to have the baby with her. It felt right, so I proposed. Of course, then she turned me down."

"She did? But you got married," she said.

"I don't know if you've ever noticed, but I can be very stubborn and persistent," he said with a wistful smile.

Rory rolled her eyes. "I do seem to remember you being gnat-like in your single-mindedness."

"Rarely are my efforts in vain. I have a tendency to get what I want," he said, taking another taco.

"I must have been a real disappointment," she said with a snort, remembering the many times she turned down his attempts to get her to agree to spend time with him outside of class.

"I wouldn't say that," he said, without elaborating.

"So, what changed her mind?" she asked, getting back to what they'd actually been discussing.

"I just didn't let her push me away. I went to doctor's appointments, I fixed her car, I helped her study, I made her tea when she was nauseated, I continued to court her like I'd been doing before she got pregnant, and finally, one night she was staying over at my place. I'd asked her to move in, but she'd turned me down on that front too. We were supposed to go to dinner, but she threw up in my car on the way to the restaurant, so I took her back to my place and helped her clean herself up, put her in some of my clothes, and held her hair back half the night. About three in the morning, she woke up and said she was hungry, so I brought her back a sleeve of saltines and water. I proposed again, and she said if I really wanted to marry her when she was fat and throwing up and eating crackers in my bed, then I was either crazy or really in love with her."

"That's sweet."

"Like I said, we were in love."

"Not everyone's that lucky," she said quietly, forgoing another taco for more of her drink.

"You're not in love with Greg?"

"That's not the problem, really, Greg is a great guy. When I was in college, I had a boyfriend. We were in love, at least, I thought we were. We were together for a while, through a lot of stuff. He proposed when I graduated, and part of me thought about it—marrying him, I mean. But I was so young! I had no idea where my career was going to take me, and he wanted to move to California, and it was just… I couldn't. I wasn't ready to get married and move across the country and be a wife. I told him no and that was it. It was over, he ended it like it had never happened at all, our whole relationship just disappeared."

"That sucks," he offered.

"Yeah. It did," she agreed. "And ever since, I've dreaded getting to the point in a relationship where it all becomes an issue."

"I was right, you don't need a lawyer," he said. "You need a shrink. Sounds like this guy did a number on you."

"I don't need a shrink!"

"You need someone to talk to about your problems with men, and trust me when I say I'm not that guy."

"You're not what guy? The kind of guy that wants to talk to me?" she asked, confused.

He turned on his seat, so that his whole body was fixated on her. His tie was still over his shoulder, and his knees were apart, resting on either side of her stool. "No, I mean, I'm not that guy, you know, the one that you complain about your love life too? I have no interest in letting you cry on my shoulder when the guy you're about to marry messes up."

"Greg isn't messing up. He loves me, and he wants to marry me, and he's buying us a house in Greenwich."

"Then you should be wearing that dress with him, letting him take it off you," he said in a way that confirmed he was picturing the removal of her garment.

"I had work," she choked out.

"You didn't need me to figure out a simple direct object use of a verb. You tracked me down and met me at night, in a bar, dressed like that."

"What is wrong with you? Is it really that hard for you to believe that not every woman in the entire world wants to sleep with you?"

"In no way have I attempted to sleep with you," he shot back.

"You're flirting, and getting me drinks and food," she said.

"That's all it takes you get you into bed? Tacos and a couple of martinis? Does Greg know this?"

"Shut up!"

"I was being a nice guy. You wanted to meet for drinks, so I met you. You were hungry, so I ordered food. But don't sit here and accuse me of something I'm not doing. I don't go after women who are engaged, practically or otherwise."

She straightened up and leaned away. "I should go."

"I don't want to keep you from your work, or whatever else you plan to do this evening."

"Work, I told you. Greg understands that my work comes first."

"Then you should marry Greg," he said with a little too much emphasis.

"What is your problem?"

He held up a hand. "Never mind. It's your life. I'd just never want to be with someone who put anything else before me, but I'm not the one asking you to marry me. If that's the kind of marriage you two want, then good for you."

It was the last thing he said to her, but she thought about his words all the way home, as she worked on her rewrite, and as she took off her dress by herself and changed into comfortable night apparel. Driven to distraction and needing to write, she picked up her phone and set to put an end to the matter as she pulled a carton of ice cream out of her freezer.

"Are you dying?" her mother croaked by way of answering.

Rory frowned into the phone, spoon in her mouth. "No."

"Bleeding from the head?"

"No."

"Then this can wait until the morning?"

"No!" she protested. "I need to work, and I can't work, I just keep thinking about how contrite he sounded, giving me advice about an area that he's failed at himself. I mean, the nerve of some people. Who is he to say that I have issues with men?"

Lorelai yawned, loudly but only partially for effect. "You and Greg had a fight? You two never fight. Which I find weird, by the way."

"No, not me and Greg. We didn't fight. He was great. I needed to finish my article, so he suggested we take a rain check on dinner and try it again tomorrow."

"Haven't you two barely seen each other, since he whipped out the pre-nup?"

"So?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Who were you arguing with?"

"Tristan Dugrey."

"You woke me up to complain about a fight you had over ten years ago?"

"No! I ran into him earlier this week, and saw him again tonight, and he was trying to give me advice on marriage. He said I should marry Greg, like we deserve each other, but not in a meant-to-be kind of way. It was clear that he didn't really think I should marry him, even though he never actually came out and said it. He had the gall to say that if that's the kind of marriage I wanted, then Greg sounded perfect for me."

"What kind of marriage is that, exactly?"

"I told him that Greg was an understanding, supportive partner who got how important my work was to me."

"Why were you two arguing about you marrying Greg? Has Greg even proposed?"

"No, not yet. But he's…," Rory began.

"Going to, I know. And I still find that odd, the whole warning period he's giving you. Did you find out more about the pre-nup?"

"We're working on it. That's actually how I met Tristan again. His ex-wife is my lawyer."

"That's freaky weird."

"He's weird. And he's so judgmental. Who is he to judge my relationship?"

"He just offered all this advice without solicitation?"

"Well, I mean, I asked him for help with a French translation. And I may have mentioned the fact I'm not completely sure about getting married. And I told him about Logan."

"Oh, God, if we're going to talk about Logan, I'm going to need to make a pot of coffee and get a lobotomy."

"Oh, coffee. Tristan ordered these martinis and they had espresso in them. You would have loved them."

"Hold on. You were drinking with Tristan after you ditched Greg for dinner?"

"It was for work," Rory said defensively, hating that she felt the need to be so defensive lately, usually when Tristan was involved.

"I'm trying to get the full picture here. You called me in the middle of the night, so you're going to have to give me some time to paint it properly."

"I'm just saying, I didn't ditch Greg. We went to the restaurant, and he told me he made an offer on that house in Greenwich, and he said if I wasn't able to focus then I should go work and we'd celebrate properly when I was done. And you don't need to picture me with Tristan, I don't want to be in a picture with him."

"Then why did you agree to meet with him?"

"I didn't. He agreed to meet with me," Rory answered reluctantly. "I told you, he was helping me with my French."

"You called a man at night, to meet at a bar and help you with your French? I think I saw a porno or a Lifetime movie that started like that," Lorelai giggled.

"It was for work!" Rory exclaimed.

"No wonder the guy was argumentative. I bet he was hot under the collar."

"You can't take his side!"

"What is his side again? That you should marry Greg?"

"He thinks I need to see a psychiatrist."

"It might not be the worst suggestion in the world."

"What? My own mother, this is unbelievable," Rory muttered.

"I'm just saying. You've been dating Greg for months, and you don't know if you want to marry him. That's understandable, especially with someone like Tristan suddenly on the scene, but you're thinking of moving to Greenwich. Clearly you're disturbed."

"If by 'someone like Tristan' you mean a smug, argumentative ass, then I might agree with some of what you just said."

"I can even understand why you get freaked out by marriage proposals."

"You get proposed to a lot. How do you stay calm?"

"Stay calm? You're not supposed to stay calm. It's a very emotion-provoking experience. Well, except when Kirk does it. I mean, if you're in love with the guy and you want to marry him, it's really exciting and your heart is racing, and you're so happy you think you might actually die. And if you can't say yes, whether you want to or not, you also want to die, for other reasons, and there's often a lot of yelling and hurt feelings all around. At least, in my experience."

"And the only way to avoid thinking you might die is to have Kirk propose?"

"I can't promise you wouldn't get the urge to self-harm, but it isn't as emotional as when other men have stepped up to the plate."

"Maybe I should see a shrink. I bet we could get a two-for-one rate."

"Just talk to Greg. You're just nervous, and that's normal. You're dealing with a pre-nup and moving out of the city and into the land of the über-rich, and it's all a very big adjustment. You're a very independent person, give yourself some time to adjust to merging with someone else for the rest of your life. It doesn't mean you shouldn't marry Greg, or that you should. Do what makes you happy."

Rory yawned and returned the ice cream to the freezer after licking the spoon clean. "Right now all I need to make me happy is to get this article finished and get some more sleep."

"What about Greg?"

"I'll talk to him when we have dinner tomorrow night."

Lorelai couldn't help it. "What about Tristan?"

"I will definitely not be talking to him. There's no reason to think our paths will cross again."

"Sometimes fate overwrites reason," Lorelai offered.

"Tristan is not my fate. Clearly you need sleep, I'm sorry I woke you up. I'm just worried about my deadline."

"For the article or the proposal?"

"I just don't want him to end things. If I freak out and say no, he's going to move on and find someone else who would jump at the chance to move to Greenwich and be a real estate mogul's wife."

"And if that's the case, then you'll move on, too. You always say work is the most important thing in your life. Focus on that for now and get some rest. And let your mother get her beauty sleep."

"I will. Sorry for waking you up to rant."

"Hey, it's what keeps us out of institutions, right?"

"We can only hope at this point."

-X-

Natalie smiled at her warmly, and Rory had to wonder if she knew that she'd gone out for a drink with Tristan. It was very unclear to her just how good of friends the ex-spouses were. "Thanks for coming back in. I warned you things would go back and forth a lot."

Rory nodded. "No problem. I'm between assignments for a few hours anyway. We're having a staff meeting this afternoon, and I'm hoping to be sent to cover the scandal fallout in Spain."

Natalie smiled. "Your Spanish is better than your French?"

"Sί," Rory agreed. "Is Greg having to meet his lawyer over and over like this? Not that I mind, but wouldn't it be easier to have us all in a room together and get it all done at once?"

Natalie cringed. "You'd think so, but that tends to make things far more complicated."

"Oh," Rory said with disappointment.

"We're getting closer. It seems there is a sticking point on their end, about your future inheritance. They insist that the issue be addressed, and that you're not disclosing it to keep it from becoming joint holdings."

"My future inheritance? I haven't been promised any inheritance. In fact, my mother has already told me that she plans to spend as much of her own money as possible before she dies. That's a scary prospect—no one can shop like the women in my family."

"They're referencing the estate of Richard and Emily Gilmore, along with that of Christopher Hayden."

Rory was stunned. "That's my grandparents and my father. My grandparents have always been generous with their money, but I'd imagine a lot of their wealth will be set aside for charities. They're very involved in charity work. And my mother is their only child, so the remaining majority would default to her. Knowing her it will all be spent on things shaped like Hello Kitty."

"What about your father?"

"I'm not his only daughter. My half-sister—he raised her, and he was never involved with me financially. I've never asked him for anything, other than my last year of tuition for Yale, which is the only thing he's ever paid for me."

"They contend you stand to inherit quite a windfall, from their combined net worths."

"I don't really care what his lawyer thinks. I'm not the only beneficiary of those estates, and even if I were, I haven't been promised anything."

"You should check to see the contents of their wills."

"I highly doubt my father has a will," Rory stated, the idea foreign to her.

"It's fairly customary, for people of certain means. His money manager would insist on it."

"My father did mention that he had an accountant. I know he has a lot of money after his father died, but I really don't see how it has any bearing on my marriage. And you said this is some kind of sticking point?"

"They've consented to split your future work earnings in a very reciprocal manner. This is the only other revenue stream to discuss. Greg doesn't seem to have any family money."

"No, he worked his way up, built his own business and money. It's all his."

Greg had always been generous with his money, and it wasn't something they ever talked about, mostly because she assumed he didn't want to make her for feel lesser because she didn't make as much as he did.

"People get really weird about money. It's worse than sex, in my opinion, as far as what breaks up marriages."

"I never thought we had issues with either," Rory said glumly. "He's been so excited about this house. He bought a house, for us, in Greenwich."

"You're moving in together?"

Rory shrugged. "I guess it's sort of implied. I'd have to get out of my lease, not that it's a problem, it's just… it was kind of a big deal when I found that apartment. I found a place in Manhattan on my own, after changing jobs and moving here alone. It was all mine, and it might be the size of a closet in Greenwich, but it's close to work and the subway and I can afford it. It was like a miracle at the time."

"That was before you met Greg, though. I understand preferring the city. I may never understand people who want to live anywhere else."

"He just acts like he's doing me a favor. Like I might be tired of the pace of the city, or maybe of dating, or work… I don't know exactly how to explain it. I just don't want to get married so I can stop doing things. I like my life."

Natalie leaned her elbows on her desk. "Maybe you should look at moving in with him like a trial run. Since he's not in a hurry to get married, go to Connecticut. Try out the commute. See what it's like when it's day-to-day life and not just catching dinner together and staying over a couple of nights a week."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

"Actually, yes. It's annoying to have to separate your stuff after you've lived with someone, but it's far more costly to have to throw in a divorce on top of the normal pain of a break up. If you're really undecided, that's what I would do. Are you undecided, or you just don't want to marry him?"

"I think I should give it a shot, like you said. Greg and I make sense, we get along so well. I'll look into the whole beneficiary business."

"Just make an appointment when you figure it out. I have a firm I use, to confer on probate and will clauses. I like things ironclad."

"Yeah, I'll give you a call. Thanks again, for the extra hand-holding."

"Hey, I didn't make Paris' list for nothing."

"I bet you're hoping she never gets a divorce, huh?" Rory asked with a bubble of laughter.

"That would be the day I had to leave the country for an unknown period of time or fake my own death. I do not want to have to live through trying to guide her through the scorn of divorce."

"Yeah, Paris' scorn and wrath are not pretty. She thought we were competing over the same guy in high school, and she took it very personally. I'd hate to see what would have happened if he'd had any interest in either of us. It was a total love triangle, formed solely in her imagination."

Natalie laughed. "You didn't even like the guy?"

Rory shifted in her chair, wishing she hadn't chosen that example. "No. It was, um, ironically enough, Tristan. You're... Tristan."

Natalie burst into laughter. "Paris was in love with Tristan? Now that is too funny."

"Actually they went out on a date. At my misguided suggestion."

Natalie slapped her desk. "Shut the front door! They did not!" she said, now crying from her amusement.

"It didn't go well. Tristan was still hung up on his ex, he said, and Paris was furious when she found out it wasn't his idea for them to go on a date."

"If you suggested it, why did Paris think you had a thing for him?"

Rory shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I had a steady boyfriend most of that time. Tristan gave me a hard time for a while, because I transferred in sophomore year—a lot of people were weird to me; the girls were competitive and the guys openly inquired about my interest in joining their fan clubs. Paris was the worst of all, actually. We eventually became friends after many starts and stops, though it was easier after Tristan left."

"Right, for military school. So, you knew him in his bad boy days, pre-rehabilitation. He's not very chatty about that. He mentioned that he knew you after the other day in my office, but he didn't say much else, so I should have guessed. The three of us should have drinks some time. I would love to hear the stories you have."

Rory flushed at the memories of his school-aged teasing of her, and the few times they were remotely alone together. "Oh, no. I mean, I didn't know him that well. Mostly just what got passed around the rumor mill, and we had a couple of classes together. I hadn't heard from him in over ten years until I saw him in your office."

"Even more reason, you two should catch up on old times. If we get this pre-nup sorted out quickly, Greg could join us. But I won't go all the way to Connecticut. I got my fill when I was married to Tristan and we had to visit his family. I'm strictly a Manhattan girl. To me those bridges are borders."

Rory smiled at the exception. "Maybe, yeah."

It was the worst-sounding foursome she could imagine, her and Tristan talking about their murky past with his ex-wife and her possible fiancé. It seemed a terrible idea, but explaining why it would be so awful for her to either Greg or Natalie was even worse, so she nodded and smiled and hoped that all the things that were twisting her stomach into knots would sort themselves out quickly, as if life had ever been just that easy.


	4. Chapter 4

Legal Advisement

Chapter Four

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

Rory sat at the coffee shop nearest Natalie's office, nursing her coffee and fighting a headache as she spoke tersely with her father, who had returned her phone call at his earliest convenience.

"Kiddo, I don't get it. If your sister heard these numbers, she'd shriek high enough to pierce the sound barrier and call all her equally shriek-y friends and plan a shopping spree."

"Please don't call me kiddo, I'm twenty-seven years, not months. And it's not that I'm ungrateful, really, I just don't think it makes any sense."

"Sorry, Rory, but you're my daughter, my first-born at that. Who else am I going to leave my money to? I can't spend it all myself, even with Gigi's help."

"I don't know… give it to Mom."

"I've tried, numerous times. I've even tried slipping her large bills when I pay her my half of the bill when we have lunch—which she always insists we split—enough to cover the bill and a new cashmere coat or two. She won't let me. I know you two have residual hard feelings about me not being able to provide for you before, but I can't go back in time. I get the fact that you don't want to be handed a bunch of money to make your life easier—you want to struggle and earn your own way. I respect that. But as someone who got handed a ton of money later in life—it makes middle age very comfortable. It takes far more money to be comfortable, the older you get. Your hair gets thinner and your muscles shrink and your knees pop for no reason. Distractions are welcome."

Rory made a fist, squeezing her hand hard out of frustration before splaying her fingers wide. "This isn't about me having hard feelings. Really, Dad, we've moved past that. We have a relationship built on who we are now, and who I am now is a journalist with a boyfriend who wants to marry her and thinks I'm hiding the fact that I have a ton of money coming to me. Just give it to charity or put it in a trust for Gigi's kids."

"You're getting married?" Chris asked, genuinely sounding taken aback and proud. "That's great."

"No, I mean, we might. Greg hasn't proposed, but he plans to and we're working on a pre-nup. His lawyer did some digging and I called Grandma and Grandpa already to tell them not to leave me a dime."

Chris chuckled. "How did that work out for ya?"

Rory slumped miserably in her seat. "It didn't. Grandma gave me a lecture about how she's a grown woman who can do well with her money what she wishes, and with Grandpa's money as well. She started saying that if she wanted to buy an island she could."

"Did she?" Chris asked, still amused by the relayed conversation.

"Not yet. I heard Grandpa specifically forbid her in the background and she said she had to go."

He laughed. "Good old Richard and Emily."

"So, we're in agreement? You'll leave the money intended for me to your favorite charity?"

"I have charities covered. I know you say you don't want it now, but things change. If it makes you feel any better, I don't plan to die for at least another forty years, and maybe by then they'll have cured this whole death thing."

"Yeah. That's great and all but it doesn't really help me out with my current situation."

"I'd say just don't get divorced, but you see that advice never panned out for me personally. I'm hoping that third time's the charm. Just, you know, not right away. Maybe after Gigi's out on her own and I'm alone and need someone around so I'm not just talking to myself."

"And on that cheery note, I'm gonna go," Rory said, disconnecting from her last source of hope on the matter of clearing up her inheritances as it pertained to her prenuptial agreement.

She put her phone on the table, then her folded arms, before pressing her forehead down on her arms and willing the world away. So much had happened in the last week. Greg had bought a house in Greenwich. She'd turned in a very well-received article and gotten an assignment to travel to Spain out of the deal to work on a much higher-profile job. She found out she was the named recipient of a crap-ton of money upon the demise of those she loved most in the world. And yet, she still wasn't engaged or any closer to knowing if she were fit to become so.

She lifted her head when a plate slid onto the table. Her eyes focused first on the giant cinnamon roll in direct view, and then she lifted her head up to see Tristan Dugrey standing next to the seat across from her.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair.

"Why not? It's not like my day was going so well before anyhow."

He narrowed his gaze at her to appraise her properly. "You should eat. Clearly your blood sugar is at a low point. You're lashing out at nice men bearing sweet rolls."

"My blood sugar isn't my problem," she said as he sat down.

"And what is your problem? Because I know it's not me. I brought you pastry and I'm easy on the eyes. This is a new suit."

He was right on both counts, but the only thing she was willing to admit to wanting a sample of was the roll. "My problem is that my father does what he whatever he wants and I'm descended from of people who argue about whether or not to buy an island."

He snorted. "That's insane. Of course you should buy an island."

She cocked her head. "No, not me, specifically. Just… never mind."

He pointed to her left hand. "Still no ring, huh?"

"That is _not_ why I'm upset."

He nodded with a patronizing grimace. "Sure it's not."

"Not all women are dying to get married. If it weren't hanging over my head like a pall, I wouldn't be giving it any thought. Just like I wouldn't be thinking about how much money my relatives were going to leave me when they died if I wasn't dealing with this pre-nup."

"Are we talking about your father again?"

She nodded by way of answering. "And my grandparents."

"And you're upset that they want to leave you money and possibly an island?"

"I don't expect you to understand why I'm upset. Having money is second-nature to you."

"Having money doesn't make people bad, no matter what you've chosen to believe," he informed her, with just enough hurt in his voice for her to realize he thought she was generally disgusted by him.

"I know that. Really, I am grateful for them even thinking of me at all, let alone leaving me money. The thing is, it never occurred to me that I had people that planned to leave me much money. I've thought of it as theirs, not mine someday. It's not a motivating factor in my life—I don't do what I do for money. Trust me, when I first started out, I was earning glorified pocket money, and I earn not much more than that now. I love my job. But now Greg probably thinks I was hiding the inheritances, like I'm not ready to share my entire life with him. But believe me, I'd rather have my grandparents and father, annoying as they can be, around for another forty years than benefit from them dying next month."

He smiled. "I believe that. All of that."

"That's because you've seen me do idiotic things, in spades. Greg will have a harder time believing that I had no idea that my own father and my grandparents were leaving me giant sums of money in their wills."

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised how many people have no idea they're included in wills."

She took another piece of roll. "You don't need to make me feel better. It's sweet, but I won't blame you for letting me revel in my absurdity. I deserve it."

He ignored her. "I know a woman who got called in to hear the reading of a will, of which she was the sole beneficiary. She had no idea she was this man's granddaughter, and he had six other grandchildren, all of whom where his legitimate grandchildren. She was illegitimate, born from his oldest son to someone who had worked at their estate and left their employ to go home to raise her baby. He got tired of all his grandchildren's infighting and attempts to weasel the others out of his will, so he rewrote the will to include only this woman, who had no idea she was related to him."

"I bet she was happy."

"She would have been happier if all the rest of the family hadn't shown up to contest the contents, in a loud and vicious manner."

"What happened?"

"Two of the grandkids got arrested for assault—they were assaulting each other over an incident with a woman that occurred a decade prior, and a third got arrested for biting one of the arresting officers."

Rory recoiled. "That's awful."

"That's what money can do to some people. You know, she ended up buying a small house and giving the rest to her mother. Money only highlights people's true natures."

"I know, but Greg is going to take this the wrong way. He's going to assume I was planning to hide the assets, in case we get a divorce."

Tristan didn't look convinced. "Surely he knows you better than that."

Rory sniffled slightly. "What makes you say that?"

He used his knuckle to tap the back of her hand. "Because I know you better than that."

She caught his eye and forgot to breathe. "Thanks."

He nodded. "I take it you had another meeting with Natalie?"

"I have one in half an hour. Did you just come from there?"

"We had lunch."

"You guys are still pretty good friends, huh?" she asked, finally asking the question that had piqued her interest from the beginning of her association with Natalie.

"We meet up regularly to talk about Asher. We go over his schedule, see if we need to make adjustments, that kind of thing. Makes it easier to stay on the same page."

Rory was relieved, but her relief bothered her. His relationship with his ex-wife had no bearing on her feelings. It was nice for them, to get along for the sake of their child, and that was all. "She said you're a great dad."

He smiled in a humble way, though it was clear he'd heard the sentiment before. "Yeah, well, I do my best."

"No offense, but it wasn't exactly the description I might have expected of you."

He looked up in curiosity. "And why is that?"

She hesitated briefly as she felt the scrutiny of his waiting eyes on her. "It's just, in high school your reputation was that of a total ladies man."

"It might seem odd, but being a good dad has been a woman-magnet," he conceded.

"Oh, eww, Tristan," she scolded.

"Not that it's my motivation, but it's a fact. I've gotten more numbers at the park with Asher than in any bar in Manhattan."

It didn't ease her mind. "That's disturbing."

"I'm not arguing."

"And you go out with these women?" she pushed.

"I didn't say that. It's not as easy as you might think, for a single dad to date. I can't just let Asher see me with other women. There's a fair amount of discretion involved."

That surprised her, without any disgust. "You haven't introduced him to anyone at all?"

He shook his head. "Not a one. It's one of the things we agreed on, when we split, that we wouldn't introduce him to anyone we weren't serious about."

"That's very mature."

He cocked his head and smirked at her. "Did it hurt to say that to me?"

She clamped down the smile on her lips, but she wasn't very successful. "A little bit."

He turned a hand up in the air haphazardly, in lieu of asking what she could do. "For what it's worth, I'm sure Greg will understand about the whole inheritance thing."

"Thanks," she said glumly.

"Is something else the matter?"

She shook her head. "No. It's stupid. More stupid than the inheritance thing."

"Try me."

"No, really, you've been nice enough. I know you don't want to hear my problems, especially about my relationship. But I appreciate the offer."

"I'm not that nice. Talk," he ordered.

"It's just, my apartment. Greg bought that house in Greenwich, and Natalie suggested I go ahead and move in with him, before he proposes, as sort of a trial run, you know, since I'm not completely … sure yet. Which means I have to end my lease, and I know it's just an apartment, but it's _my_ apartment. It's near work and it was supposed to be my _Sex and the City_ Manhattan apartment, you know? I mean, not really because it's a tenth of the size of any of the apartments on that show, and it's too small to bring anyone to, but still. I hate to give it up, five flights up and all."

"Even Carrie gave up her apartment for Mr. Big."

She raised an eyebrow. "You watched _Sex and the City_?"

"Natalie loves that show. It was hard to avoid completely with as often as she re-watched the DVDs."

She laughed. "Mr. Big didn't ask Carrie to move to Connecticut. And she kept the apartment when she went to Paris with the Russian."

"You lost me," he admitted. "But you might be able to sublet, if you really don't want to get rid of it right away."

"No, I can't. I'm already subletting, but that just makes it easier to get out of, I figure."

He frowned. "You should have your lease looked over before you do anything."

"Looked over?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm assuming you had a lawyer look it over before you signed it, but just to make sure you avoid a penalty, it can't hurt to have it looked at again for your own protection."

"I didn't have a lawyer look at it before I signed it. It was an available, affordable place in Manhattan near work. And two blocks from the subway," she added, as if that made her point.

"Please tell me you're kidding," he said in a pained voice. "You're dating a guy in real estate, I'm sure he'd back me up on this, you need to have this looked at before you take action."

"Greg doesn't tell me what to do," she said. "I know you're a lawyer and you were married to one, but not everyone's first thought at every juncture of their life is 'oh, I should involve a lawyer.'"

"It's a contract, Rory. Something you signed, I'm guessing without even reading at all."

"I read it. Mostly," she added, putting a dent in her indignant tone. "Did I mention it was near the subway?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just get a copy of it and give me a call. I'll go over it for you."

"I have a lawyer."

He stared at her in disbelief. "Natalie specializes in family law."

"So? You said yourself she's a great lawyer."

"So, you need someone who specializes in contract law."

"I don't have a roster of law school buddies. The law is the law, right?"

"Are you incapable of just saying, 'Sure, Tristan, that sounds great. Thanks for offering'?'" he asked, leaning his elbows on the table as he glared at her.

"I just don't see what the big deal is. It's a just a lease."

"It might not even be a legal sublet. You could be living there illegally, and if that's the case, you will most definitely need a specialized lawyer."

"I can see where you think I'm some stupid woman who isn't wholly on top of everything in her life, what with my misadventures in French and the current foggy state of my relationship, and the fact that I didn't know I was going to inherit a small fortune, but I am capable of basics, like securing my own shelter."

"I'm not arguing with you about this."

"Good," she said, glad to have ended the conversation.

"I'm looking at the lease, whether you like it or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm putting my foot down."

"Well, pick it back up. If it's that big a deal, I'll call Paris and have her give me her top recommendation for, what did you say? A contract lawyer?"

"She'll tell you to call me," he shot back smugly.

She crossed her arms and sat back. "I can't pay you."

"We can work something out."

"You want to barter? I have no skills, unless you need to hire a journalist. I can't cook, I hate cleaning, and I only do laundry when I'm out of underwear."

The edge of his mouth upturned. "Good to know."

"Stop thinking about my underwear," she demanded.

"You brought it up."

"I was wrong before. You're not mature at all."

"Look, if you want to move to Greenwich and play house with this guy, you need to get out of your lease. I'm offering to make this easier for you. Trust me, Greg will see it as you being proactive, which will make him feel better about any misunderstanding about wanting to share your assets with him."

Try as she might, she was unable to come off the defensive. "Why did you say assets like that?"

"Like what?" he asked innocently, but she saw some sort of glint to his eyes.

"Fine. Should I call your office and make an appointment?"

"Appointments are for billable hours. Come by tonight around eight. Bring Chinese food. And your lease, of course."

"Chinese food?"

"Think of it as the first installment. I like pork. And egg rolls," he said as he tossed a business card at her with his office information.

"Isn't this some sort of conflict of interest?"

"How's that?"

"I don't know, it just seems… conflicting."

"That sounds like a personal problem. If you want, you can bring Greg with you," he offered.

"No, I mean, with Natalie."

"Natalie doesn't care what I do or whom I do it with personally or professionally. And if anything, this will just make her job easier."

She bit her lip. "Okay. I guess. We're developing quite a habit of trading food for favors."

"You said you couldn't afford to pay. Which is ironic, since you'll be rolling in it one day, apparently."

"I can offer to pay you in roughly ten to thirty years, based on average life expectancies. Do you take IOUs?" she asked playfully.

"I prefer prepayment. Hence dinner."

"Fair enough. It really won't take long, it's just a simple form that my landlord got online. What, what is that look for?"

"I'm just often struck at how smart women do stupid things."

"And you never do stupid things?" she baited, knowing the opposite was true.

"I didn't say that. But I own up to them, I don't defend their veracity."

"You're the one that insists on helping me."

"And you still maintain you don't need help, even though I found you in here moping over your coffee."

"I wasn't moping."

"Yes, you were."

"I was recovering."

"From what, the walk over?"

"No, from talking to my father. I realize you've never spoken to my parents, but they're both high energy and separately they're manageable, just barely. Together, I need fluids afterward."

"That explains a lot, actually," he informed her.

"How's that?"

"I'm always worn out after seeing you. Clearly it's a genetic ability you have," he said as if it weren't an insult. "Shouldn't you get to Natalie's office?"

She checked her watch. "Oh, shoot. Thanks for reminding me."

She started to gather her things to leave, but he remained seated. "I'm here to help, apparently."

She paused and looked down at him. He did look good in his new suit, but he was oddly relaxed in posture for his outfit. His tie was just a little loosened around his neck, like he'd tugged on it once just a little too hard. "Thanks. I really do appreciate it, all the help you've given me."

"I know."

"It's just, I tend to do things on my own."

"You've made that clear. You're almost as stubborn as I am."

She could only smile before she left him alone at their table.

-X-

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"I don't need my mommy to talk for me. I already talked to him, anyway."

Lorelai snorted. "Please. I can talk that man into anything. Once, I got him to wear a skirt, a wig, and Pretty In Pink lipstick to sing a melody of Cyndi Lauper songs for the school talent show."

"That is not a mental image I ever needed to have of my father. Or of anyone really. Besides, he's trying to be nice. I get that."

"Except he and the Magnificent Ambersons are making you look bad to the guy that's thinking about proposing to you."

"Greg will understand, I think. His lawyer might not, but Natalie said lawyers aren't paid to think the best of people."

"Which is why I loathe dealing with them. They're a bunch of soulless bureaucrats."

"Tristan said I need another kind of lawyer, to look over my lease."

"Gah! More lawyers?"

"Just Tristan. He's making me bring him my lease before I try to get out of it."

"He's making you? Is that a new technique for bringing in clients, force?"

"I'm not really a client. I'm paying him in egg rolls and moo shu pork."

"Tristan has been very helpful lately. First with drinks and French, now with dinner and helping you with your lease. Have there been any other helpful late-night activities?"

"No, and there won't be. If he wasn't so relentlessly annoying about what an idiot I was for not knowing what I was signing in the first place, I wouldn't be meeting him tonight."

"You didn't read your lease?"

"It was affordable and close to work! Who asks questions?"

"Well, if he saves you from jail, he might expect more than egg rolls."

"He's not interested in me like that. He's got a kid, and he thinks I'm a moron."

"Hey, people with kids still date. And he doesn't think you're a moron."

"He should. I should have known Grandma and Grandpa were leaving me money. They donated a building and named it after me at Yale. Have you talked to Grandma this week? She was kidding about buying an island, right?"

"She's looking at time-share options. Dad threatened to hire someone to put her shoe collection on 'the eBay' if she bought one."

"I hate it when they fight, but it is always humorous."

"That it is," Lorelai agreed.

"Anyway, Tristan had a point. If I'm serious about wanting to break my lease, I should know what the situation is. And I can't afford to pay rent and help Greg with the mortgage, and it's illegal to sublet since I'm already a sublet."

"So you're really moving to Greenwich? Not that I'm not thrilled to have you a little closer, but I'm not sure it's a more desirable location, reality-wise."

"It's a really nice house."

"I'm sure it is. They've outlawed falling down shacks and cars more than five years old in Greenwich."

"My only concern is that it's going to add to my commute, and I need to be available to hop on a plane at a moment's notice."

"Well, you have a little notice this time. You don't leave for Spain for a couple of days, right? I want to have a fiesta before you go."

"You might have to settle for a siesta. I'd personally kill for one. After dinner with Tristan, I have about four hours of notes to read, so I'll be ready for my meeting with my editor before I make my final arrangements for Spain."

"Where does Greg factor in?"

"We're having a quick lunch tomorrow. He's so busy lately, he won't even be able to drop me at the airport."

"Sounds like he's going to have to get you to move in, to see you at all."

"It's not that bad. We're just busy right now. Things will slow down, eventually. Maybe around Thanksgiving."

"Which you are spending with me, right? I can't bear a Gilmore holiday without you around. It devolves very quickly from how well you're doing to the fact I'm not married and live alone. There are suggestions of adopting cats and how to find roommates that won't rob and murder me."

"Sounds festive."

"I need you. Greg will just have to cope."

"I'll pass on the message. My food's ready, I need to go."

"Okay, okay. But if Tristan offers to help you with anything involving the removal of your underwear, I expect a phone call and full details."

"Mom! He's not going anywhere near my underwear. He's essentially helping me move in with Greg."

"I'm sure he's quite the Boy Scout. Eat an egg roll for me!" Lorelai added before they hung up.

Rory paid for the bags of food, doing her best to wipe her mind clear of any unforeseen possibilities the night held. They'd have dinner, he'd mock her for having signed her lease, and they'd part ways into the never-ending traffic of Manhattan.

She could resist the sexual tension that tended to occur between them, because she was involved with Greg. Greg trusted her, even when he didn't know where she was. She wondered if she should give him a call and just tell him, so it wouldn't feel like something she was hiding from him. She had no reason to hide Tristan from Greg—not that she felt any desire to push them together for any reason, either.

By the time she found Tristan's office, she handed him the bags the moment he opened his office door and blurted out what was on her mind. "Greg doesn't know I'm here."

He put the bags on his desk, not showing any signs of alarm at her proclamation. "Do you want to call him?"

She shook her head and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of his at his desk. "No. He's working. I just thought I should mention it."

"It's not a problem for me, but he's not my boyfriend," he said as he began unpacking the bags. "I assume the noodles are for you," he said, holding the open carton of chicken lo mein out to her after he stuck chopsticks into the carton.

"Thanks. Do you have one?"

His head snapped up from the bags to survey her. "A boyfriend?"

"Well, I mean, a girlfriend. Someone you're seeing."

He put a carton on his desk and folded his hands on his lap. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Just making conversation. You were talking about how it's not easy to date with a kid."

"No, I said I had to be discreet. I date."

"Oh," she said.

"This is somehow disappointing to you?"

"No, it's just, good for you."

She was stabbing her noodles with her chopsticks and pointedly not looking at him and the way he was sitting with his leg crossed over his knee. "I'm not seeing anyone at the moment."

She looked up tentatively. "Okay."

"I don't do set-ups if that's what this is about."

She put a hand to her chest. "No, no, honestly, I wasn't thinking of setting you up with anyone. I don't even know any single women, except Natalie, whom you've already dated, and well, my Mom, who would probably go out with you, but she's a little old for you. Unless you like older women," she rambled.

"Did you just suggest I should go out with your mom?" he asked, understandably horrified.

"No. God no. Never," she said, delving into her bag for a distraction. "I brought the lease, I should just let you look at it."

"I think that's better than talking at the moment," he said, accepting the single sheet of paper as she offered it out between them.

She shoved a mouthful of noodles in to keep her from being able to form words. She was mortified, on a number of levels, and wanted only to take her ridicule and free legal advice and escape.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"Good news, first," she said after she swallowed.

"You should have no problem giving them almost no notice. They crossed out thirty days, here, and I think that's a ten written in. It's hard to tell, without having a handwriting analysis done, which would probably disclose a very disturbing personality."

"Is that the bad news?" she asked flippantly.

"No, the bad news is that you signed something that had 'EZ Lease' printed on the top."

She snatched the lease from him and shoved it back in her purse. "I knew both of those facts already. What did I buy you dinner for?"

"The fact that that document won't stand up in court, so it doesn't matter if you just disappear overnight. They probably won't notice, which is a problem only if you're abducted or killed."

"I have neighbors. Mr. Keener down the hall has dogs, and I pass him in the hall every morning when he takes them out for a walk."

"You know your neighbors? This is Manhattan."

"That's really no excuse not to be friendly."

"Must be a small town thing," he scoffed.

"What's wrong with being nice to people?"

"Nothing at all. But some of the millions of people in the city are lunatics. You can't treat them equally."

"Please, I'm from Stars Hollow. It's full of lunatics. But those lunatics bring Bundt cake and soup over when you're sick and sit with you when you have a death in the family."

"All I remember about Stars Hollow is the lady at the dance studio we rented, she asked me if I had a light for her cigarette, and she pinched my butt when I offered her one."

"That's Miss Patty. She's mostly harmless. Unless you're a male."

He appeared unsettled at the description. "Well, you'll know your neighbors in Greenwich, though I'm not sure you'll want to."

"I'll barely be there anyhow. I'll probably spend longer hours at work, to miss heavy commuting times. And I'm being sent on more foreign assignments. I go to Spain in a few days."

"To cover the fallout of the Prime Minister's scandal?" he asked.

"You've heard about it?"

He nodded. "My family has a place in Barcelona. Our landscaper's niece works at the embassy, so I've heard a few things, off the record."

"Can I get her number? It might be interesting, to interview her, for another perspective. She might have something I'm not going to get from any of his aids."

"I'll get it for you," he agreed.

"I'm afraid I'm out of food to offer," she joked. "And I think we can rule out pleasant conversation."

"You're not yelling at me, much, and you're not asking as many questions as my kid, so it's not as unpleasant as you might think. My bar, as a lawyer and a father of a small child, is kind of low at the moment."

"Well, you might not have a girlfriend, but surely you have other guys to hang out with, to get to talk to adults outside of work," she suggested.

He shook his head. "Nah. You go into this kind of communication hole when you have kids, especially when you're the first of your friends to do the whole marriage and kid thing. I mean, I still see some of them sometimes, but everyone's got work, and now most of them are in relationships, starting to have kids themselves. You'll see."

"I will?"

"When you have kids," he clarified. "Don't you want kids?"

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, um, maybe? I guess?"

"Are you asking me?" he turned it back to her.

"No, I mean, I guess I've always figured I'd have them someday. Sort of like when I thought I'd get married. Someday. Far in the future, after my career had taken off and started to take shape."

"Well, hasn't it? You're a journalist, working for a major publication, being sent around the world. What else did you hope to accomplish before figuring out the rest of it?"

She hadn't considered that her position in life had changed so much. "Nothing, I guess. I'm still young, though, there isn't a rush. Not that there's anything wrong with people my age having kids. I know I'm plenty old enough. Do you want more kids?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It was easier, five years ago, to stay up all night. I could get up with Asher, soothe him for hours, get an hour of sleep on the couch after he finally passed out, and put in a full day's work. Now if he's sick and I'm up half the night, I have to take a day off to recover. That's if he doesn't give me whatever he picked up at school."

"I really hadn't thought of that."

"It's not so bad," he said. "I mean, the lack of sleep is brutal at first. I went to military school, so I was kind of prepared for the complete breaking down of my old ways and having my limits pushed. But having a kid is way more rewarding than having to scrub a bathroom with a toothbrush while a guy with a crew-cut screams at you."

She considered that. "I would hope so."

"It's sort of like creating a mirror image of yourself. You make this little person that does and says all the same stuff you do—whether you realize it or not—good and bad."

"That's what my mom always said," she said with a soft smile.

"It's worth the million questions an hour he asks and the psychotic kid shows with the overly repetitive songs, and the temporary loss of a social life. But honestly, until I made junior partner, I didn't have a social life anyway. Hell, I'm still at the office at all hours, even tonight, when Nat has Asher."

"Yes, but it's not a billable hour," she reminded him. "And you are having dinner with an adult that you do not work with. I'll do my best not to yell at you. Anymore," she added with a smile.

"I appreciate that," he said, picking up a carton of steamed vegetables. "Want some?"

Her nose wrinkled reflexively. "Ugh, no. Way too healthy."

"Why'd you get it if you don't like it?" he asked.

"I don't know, I figured you might want something that wasn't covered in sauce. You just look like you probably eat healthy or work out."

"You've been checking me out?" he asked, with a fair amount of glee.

"What? No. It's just, you have a certain stature, and that's of a relatively healthy person. And healthy people often eat vegetables."

"It's not a crime to check me out, you know. People do it all the time," he assured her.

"I think you're confusing me with one of those sad park mothers," she informed him briskly. "I'm otherwise involved."

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'you can look but don't touch'?"

"Only people who want to touch use that phrase," she said.

"It doesn't make you a bad person to notice other people."

"I wasn't checking you out, okay? I bought vegetables, not an order for an inquisition," she exclaimed.

"Is this because Greg doesn't know you're here?"

"You said that didn't matter."

"To me? It doesn't. It might to him. I know if I had a girlfriend that I just bought a house for, I might care that she was in some guy's office eating dinner with him and buying him vegetables because he has a nice body."

"I did not order for your nice body! I ordered a variety of things."

He chuckled as he speared a steamed piece of broccoli. "You'd probably appreciate a change of topic right about now, huh?"

"Very much so," she agreed, attempting to check her mood to a more stable, easy-going point. It seemed a mounting task.

"Why aren't you sure about this Greg guy?"

"I'm not unsure about him. He is what every other woman in the city is looking for. He's got a great job, he treats me well, and he lets me have the last piece of pizza. He opens doors and doesn't complain when I stay up late reading with a light on."

"So what doesn't he do?"

She looked up, startled by his question. "I… it's my issue, not his."

"Maybe if you talk about it, you can move past it. Crazier things have happened."

"You said you didn't want to hear about my relationship stuff. This is the epitome of relationship stuff."

"Consider it a one-night only deal. I'll be the priest, you confess your sins, and we'll never speak of it again. You can go to Spain absolved or whatever."

"Or whatever," she said with a sigh. "Do you remember my first boyfriend, when we were in high school?"

He frowned. "Refresh my memory."

"Dean? You two had a very _West Side Story_ moment at the winter formal?"

"Dean was your first boyfriend? Geez, that explains so much," he muttered.

"Why do you keep saying that? Do I do a lot of things that don't make sense to you?" she asked.

"Nearly everything you do, in fact," he said. "But go on. What about Dean?"

"He was a great boyfriend. He never forgot our plans, he was nice to my mother, and he cared about if I was too hot or too cold, and always got me home by curfew."

"He sounds swell," Tristan said with an eye roll.

"He was. He was the textbook definition of a nice guy. And do you know what I did to him?"

Tristan eyed her with interest. "Is this about to get dirty?"

"No! When I was dating Dean, I kissed someone else, someone that I was incredibly attracted to, but also someone who argued with me all the time, who was rude to everyone and didn't care what anyone thought of him, be it adults or other kids."

"Sounds like a rebel," he offered.

"He was. He smoked and called his mother by her first name, and I've never met anyone my mother hated more based on sheer lack of respect."

"Is this your way of telling me you have a bad boy complex? This doesn't make you unique. How do you think I scored so many dates in high school?"

"I didn't like him only because he was a bad boy, if you must use that phrase. What he and I had… it was intensely physical. We weren't heading to the same path in life, at all. Not that we didn't have anything in common, we did, but honestly it wouldn't have mattered much if we hadn't. It was the same with Logan, in college."

"Is this the one that proposed?"

She nodded. "We were so different, in what we wanted out of life. But again, it didn't matter. I kept going back to him, because he'd get this look in his eyes, then we'd kiss, and before I knew it…," she said with a hard swallow.

Tristan shifted noticeably. "Yeah, I've been there a few times myself. So where does this leave Greg?"

"It's not that things with him aren't… adequate. It's always good. But there's good, then there's… you know."

He scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I know."

"It's not a reason not to marry him. It would just be nice to find someone that wanted the same things I do, and that still provided that kind of chemistry that I couldn't deny."

"So why are you going through all this pre-nup business?"

"Because I can't keep holding out for something that probably isn't going to happen. I have to grow up and accept that every relationship has limitations. Greg and I have a lot in common. I thought we wanted the same kind of life."

"But you're not sure now."

She shook her head. "It makes me feel so shallow. Who else complains about a giant house in a well-to-do area?"

"As someone who grew up in such a house, I can tell you it's not all it's cracked up to be. If it's not where you want to be, any place can feel like a prison."

"I've tried to talk to him about finding a place in Manhattan. But he's a numbers guy and keeps telling me about crime rates and schools and how we're just going to want to be there in ten years anyway statistically, and how the market is starting to come back and the interest rates," she explained trailing off in much the same way her mind wandered when Greg had been talking about it all originally.

"Put you to sleep a little bit, did it?"

"It's not like I don't care about real estate. But it's like law. No offense, but it's not exactly what people read about for pleasure."

"None taken. I don't read law journals in my off time."

"What do you read?"

He shrugged. "All kinds of things. You want like my top-ten list?"

"A few notable favorites at least," she encouraged.

"Joyce, Fitzgerald, Wilde, and of course, Hemingway."

She groaned in pain. "What is it with guys and Hemingway?"

He drew back at her indignation. "Don't blame me because you don't understand the male psyche. He was brilliant at taking life from his point of view and making it art."

"I certainly hope all men don't view life like Hemingway," she scoffed.

"He liked a good fight, he needed perhaps more than his fair share of praise, but he wasn't just an observer. He lived life and shared all of it."

"I've tried and tried to get through his books, I just never have been able to force my way through."

"Who makes your top list?"

"There's so many," she said, her brain starting to flood with any number of books that had been her favorite at one time or another.

"Please don't just say Jane Austen. Or worse, Candace Bushnell," he groaned.

She laughed. "I'm far more enamored with Tolstoy, myself."

"Long, sad, Russian novels. This is what you read for fun?" he teased.

"I can't remember the last night I had just for fun, especially the kind that wasn't planned. Everything's so busy now, with work and now appointments, and scheduled dinners and events."

"You should rectify that," he suggested. "Immediately."

"What about you? Didn't you say you had no social life and should be out instead of working when you don't have Asher? Need I remind you we're in your office?"

He stood up. "Get your jacket."

She frowned and remained seated. "Why?"

"We're going to have fun," he said as he quickly bussed the remainder of their dinner.

She looked around, as if there might be hidden cameras. She wasn't sure what television show might be on that involved such types of pranks, but surely there was some incarnation of Punk'd on MTV or some other station that had lost its original purpose for programming. "What kind of fun?"

"The spontaneous kind. The kind that doesn't involve work or real life. It's just you and me and the city. The city is fun. I haven't taken advantage of it in years, but there's a million things out there just waiting to amuse us."

"You're serious?"

He opened the door, holding it for her. "Yes."

She stood up and grabbed her jacket as he suggested. She walked haltingly to him and paused. "Do you have any idea where we're off to?"

He shook his head. "Something will jump out at us."

"Like a mugger?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

He looked down at her. They were in his doorway, not quite pressed together but close enough for him to fill her frame of view. "Think of it as paying your respects to the city. You can't leave it without remembering what a good time it offered. It's like getting married without having a stag party."

"Those things are stupid," she decreed.

He shook his head. "It's a rite of passage. They might be cliché, but they're important."

She bit her lip. "I hate that you make sense."

He smiled at her. "I get that a lot, actually."

She gave a sigh of defeat. "Look out fun, here we come."


	5. Chapter 5

Legal Advisement

Chapter Five

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

Tristan showcased his quick reflexes yet again as he caught Rory's waist deftly with both hands when she missed a step and began to pitch forward. He'd stayed a good two steps behind her for the exact purpose of not letting her fall down any of the four flights of stairs to her apartment and so far he'd come to her rescue no fewer than five times. And as she had each time before, she giggled, bending back into his weight. He eased her back so she was steady on her own feet and paused for a second before letting go of her.

"I hate stairs."

He chuckled, not bothering to try to hide his laughter. He'd been laughing with her for hours by then and saw no reason to stop now, even though they were nearly at her door.

"They're easier to navigate without the tequila," he reasoned jovially.

She turned around to glare at him, throwing her dangerously off balance again, and her natural instinct to reach out and grab his arm to steady herself kicked in. She stared at him in surprise for a moment after her hand gripped his arm, as if startled by the action. Then her eyes narrowed again. "Are you siding with the stairs?"

"I prefer elevators, myself," he informed her conspiratorially. "But you seem to be without that option here."

She nodded and released him. "They make it hard to walk, with all the up-ness," she said, frowning at the end of her complaint. "That's not the right word."

He laughed again. "That's because it's not a word at all," he informed her. "So you can't really blame it for being wrong, what with it not existing and all."

"It really wasn't necessary for you to come up here."

He kept pace with her. "You've mentioned that."

"Have I?"

"Primarily when I wasn't busy breaking your fall, but yes, a few times."

"These shoes are kind of wobbly," she said, spreading the blame.

"Again, they might work better without the tequila in your bloodstream. But I do kind of like them," he said, leaning down a little to admire her from the ankles down.

"I didn't have that much tequila, did I?" she asked, turning her widening doe eyes on him. It promptly became his turn to freeze momentarily.

"Ah, well, enough to make me walk you up to your apartment," he said, clearing his throat. He pointed along the hall. "Which one is yours?"

She turned to stare at the hallway in question. "The one at the end," she said, beginning to dig in her purse. "My keys are in here, somewhere. Oh, here they are!"

He considered her with a grin. "You always get so excited about finding your keys?"

She pondered for a moment. "Maybe, just maybe, I had a little too much tequila."

"There it is," he agreed as they proceeded down the hall.

Once they got to her door, she held her keys in her closed fist and turned to look at him. "Well, this is it. My apartment. 421, that's me."

"Aren't you going in?"

"Oh, yes, I am. Because I live here."

"Go on, then," he suggested, not moving to leave her alone.

"Is this about tequila again?" she asked.

He nodded, but kept silent.

She sighed with exasperation and picked a key from her ring and attempted to jam it in the lock. Frustrated at its ineptitude, she tried again. She examined the key and blushed a little. "That's to my mom's house," she said sheepishly, grabbing another key.

She fumbled a bit, and he put his hand over the keys, and guided it smoothly into the lock. Her hand stayed under his, both their fingers wrapped around the key, as he turned it with success. She watched him in a daze as he removed his hand and turned the doorknob.

"You should really have more than one lock on this door."

She swallowed and snapped out of her fog-like haze. "I don't have much to steal."

He stared at her without finding amusement in what he assumed as a light-hearted response. "Not all the people that might break in are looking to take your possessions. I know a good locksmith."

She put her hand out on his chest. "Stop doing that."

He frowned, forming a little wrinkle in his skin between his eyebrows. She had never really noticed his eyebrows before, but they were well-kept without appearing overly maintained. It fit with the rest of him; his haircut, his fingernails, and his facial hair. She did her best to refocus her attention on being annoyed with his behavior.

"Doing what? Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, rubbing at his forehead.

"Your face is fine, as is my door."

"This lock is insufficient," he argued. "You need three-inch screws at least, not to mention a deadbolt or two in this neighborhood."

"My screws aren't your business," she said, hearing the words just after she said them.

He smirked, which she should have anticipated, yet it only fed her annoyance.

"You know what I mean," she added hastily.

"Why are you so uptight about your screws?" he asked, prolonging the joke.

"My life isn't here for you to fix," she announced hastily. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, I had a really good time tonight, but you always do this. My French, my contracts, my door locks," she listed off.

"You asked for my help with the French," he reminded her.

"Yes, eventually, I did. But with my lease and my door you just swooped in like Superman. I'm not Lois Lane."

"Now I'm a superhero?"

"You're … I'll tell you what you are. You're one of those guys," she informed him.

"I don't think lectures mix with tequila ingestion either," he said, breaking the news to her as gently as possible.

"You think I should change my drink of choice, too?" she pressed.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm not saying tequila doesn't agree with you. Until you started with the accusations, I had a good time with you tonight."

She sobered slightly. "You did?"

"And you said you couldn't dance," he chided.

"I can't," she said. "That was all you."

"I do what I can," he said humbly. "So, you're good now?"

"Except for my insufficient lock," she teased him.

He wasn't amused at that. "Do you want me to break in to prove it to you?"

She glared some more, for good measure. "Not even a little bit. I wasn't aware breaking and entering was one of your skills."

"I had a brief life of crime back in high school, remember?"

"Yeah, but you got caught. How good could you have been?" she reasoned.

He made a face. "Ooh, attacking my criminal skills, that burns. Can I use your bathroom before I take off?"

She balked. "Why, so you can cry in private?"

"It was a long trip up the stairs, I'd like to use the facilities before I head home."

She offered just a one-shouldered shrug in response. "As long as you promise you won't break my front door, I don't care what you do."

"How about if I fix your door?" he tried again.

"The bathroom is over there," she said stoically. "Don't leave the toilet seat up."

He raised an eyebrow at her in response and went off behind the only real door within the confined space she called home. She staggered over to her phone and checked to see she'd missed no calls to the apartment. It wasn't surprising, as anyone with any urgent need to contact her would have tried her cell, which she searched for in the depths of her purse. She was dumping the entire contents of her purse onto the counter in the kitchenette when Tristan emerged from the bathroom holding a small sheet of paper.

"Did you do all of this today?" he asked.

She picked up her phone and checked the display before she realized what Tristan was holding. "What are you doing with that?"

"I got tired halfway through this list, just thinking of the energy involved. And then you went dancing for four hours? Just how much coffee do you drink in a day?"

She swiped at the list, snatching it from his hands on the second try. "I didn't do it all today," she defended. "I would have, but dinner with you became dancing and drinking, and I didn't get to the last two."

"I can see why you had to keep a list," he said, his eyes still bugging from the enormity of her daily to-do list. "And I thought I packed a lot into each day."

"I didn't write the list so I wouldn't forget any of it. I have a very good memory, thank you."

That didn't sit well with him. "Then why write it down?"

She shrugged. "It's what I do. I've always kept lists, or records, of my life. I write in journals, I keep lists. Sometimes they come in handy, if I need to remember what I did on a certain day, or I'll revisit lists of things I want to do."

"You keep a list of things you want to do? What kinds of things?"

She shrugged and sat on the bar stool at the edge of her kitchen counter that served as her dining set. "You know, like a bucket list. Stuff like learning Arabic, interviewing all the world leaders, stuff like that. Don't you have a bucket list?"

"I don't keep lists," he said. "What else is on your bucket list?"

"I don't know," she said, tossing her hands up in the air. "It changes, over time. I cross of countries I want to visit as I go. Same for jobs. Not that I've crossed anything off it in a while."

"Why not?" he asked.

"I'm busy," she said. "I thought moving to New York would help me get ahead, and that might be happening soon. If I do well on my next assignment, I might get higher profile pieces."

"You'll get to cross off getting married," he suggested lightly.

She frowned as she looked up at him. "That's not on my bucket list."

"Then why are you even bothering with this prenuptial agreement?" he pressed.

Her mouth opened in outrage. "You've got a lot of opinions for a guy that doesn't even have a list."

He rolled his eyes. "I know what I want out of my life without a list."

"And what is that?" she asked, ready to press him for a change.

"I want to be a good father to Asher, to be there for him in a way my dad never was for me. I want to be able to leave work at the office and have nights like this, where it's just full of laughter and being in the moment. I want to find someone that makes it all so much more than just getting through everything I have to get done each day. That's what I want."

She was once again stunned to silence by his words. "That's… a pretty good extemporaneous list."

They seemed at some kind of silent impasse, looking at one another with expectation without acting on it. At long last, he cleared his throat. "I should get going. You still need to pack, apparently," he said, referring to the final entry on her list he'd found.

She nodded, her head barely bobbing. "I have meetings… soon," she said with distaste as she noticed just how late it had gotten. "I leave in thirty-six hours."

"I hope it goes well for you," he said. "If you change your mind about the locks, I can give you a referral."

She glanced to the door he would be exiting soon, if things kept playing out in kind. "It doesn't make much sense, if I won't be here much longer," she noted with resignation.

"Because you're moving," he said, though he did a good job of hiding his feelings about the matter, if he had any.

"That's the plan," she said. "Nothing's set in stone."

His eyes flickered, finally, with interest. "You aren't sure about moving in with him, either?"

She closed her eyes before she answered. "Honestly, I'm getting a little less sure every day it seems."

"Why's that?" he asked, his voice skeptical and guarded.

She thought for a minute, but all she could remember was how much they'd laughed that night, and how free and easy she'd felt with his hands on her body, moving with her to the music. When she opened her eyes, he was still right there, waiting for her answer. "I'm probably just gun-shy. I haven't lived with a guy in a long time, and I haven't really taken advantage of living in the city. Tonight was… a lot of fun. I forgot what it was like to just cut loose and forget about real life for a little while, how refreshing that can be."

"Rory," he said her name, with an intent that made her nervous instantly.

Her nerves got the better of her. "You should go. It's late."

He pressed his lips together in a firm line, but he didn't argue. When they made it to the door together, he looked at her once more, in a way that made her ache inside. "Lock this door behind me, and maybe push your bookcase in front of it."

She smiled at him. "Do you boss everyone around, or just me?" she asked, trying to interject humor into the thick air around them.

He shook his head. "Just people I care about. Goodnight, Rory."

He'd done it again, taken her off guard. "Goodnight."

She shut and locked the door behind him, remembering his prediction that he could get back in with little effort if he so wished. She put her hand over the single lock and wondered if he wanted to come back in, if he'd wanted to stay longer. Her tequila buzz was wearing off, and she was overwhelmed by sadness as the whole night began to fade into a memory too quickly.

-X-

Rory picked up a French fry from her plate and took a bite. She wasn't really hungry anymore after finishing her burger, but if she quit chewing she'd have to do more talking. She was perfectly content to let her mother blather on and on about the latest antics at work. Luckily her mother worked with two of the most colorful characters in all of Stars Hollow, and she'd been able to keep quiet most of their meal.

Lorelai finished her cup of coffee and took a pause from talking about her own life. She eyed Rory with scrutiny for a moment. "So, why are you really here?"

Rory did her best not to choke on a chunk of fry. "I told you. I needed a bigger bag to take to Spain. Who else would I come to when I need larger luggage?"

"When Emily Gilmore teaches you to pack, there is no such thing as small luggage," Lorelai contended. "Wasn't tonight your last chance to see Greg before you leave for Spain?"

Rory broke another fry in half, not bothering to pretend to eat any longer. "He had an emergency come up, some big client with a crisis."

"You don't sound upset about that," Lorelai noted.

"I'm not. I mean, I needed to pack. We'll talk on the phone, later."

"But there is something going on," Lorelai said, trying to figure it out. She snapped her fingers and pointed at Rory. "Wait, I know, you haven't mentioned Tristan!"

Rory sat back and did her best to appear indifferent. "Why would I?"

"Because the last time I talked to you, you were on your way to feed him dinner at his office."

"I did not feed him. I took food over to his office, to return the favor of him of looking at my lease."

Lorelai smiled. "Yes, you seem to be doing each other a lot of favors lately."

"What are you implying, exactly?"

"Nothing, I just think it's interesting that you've been mentioning him a lot lately, and then after I know you spent time with him you're all clammed up. Which leads me to wonder if maybe something happened that you don't want to talk about?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm not mentioning him because nothing of note happened?"

Lorelai snorted. "With you two? Unlikely."

"Nothing happened!"

"So, he didn't look at your lease?"

Rory cocked her head in exasperation. "Of course he looked at my lease. That's why I went over there."

"So, what did he say?"

"That I can move out whenever I like without penalty."

"And then you shook hands and parted ways?"

"Not exactly. We ate and talked and he suggested we should get out of his office and enjoy the evening."

"He asked you out?"

"No! He suggested we go have fun, because we were both working so much and weren't taking advantage of living in a city like New York. A man and woman can do something together without it being a date."

"You and Greg do things together all the time that don't sound like dates to me," Lorelai chided.

"Just because you don't enjoy lectures, that doesn't mean we don't find them stimulating."

"Aw, sweetie, yeah, but that's not the kind of stimulation that dates are supposed to provide," Lorelai teased. "But I'll let that drop for now. Where did you and Tristan go? A museum?"

"No. We went to this little cantina."

"An oasis in the middle of the city?"

Rory raised an eyebrow. "Mock me if you must, but it was fun. They had great drinks and a live band."

"That does sound fun," Lorelai agreed. "But now I'm sure there's something you're specifically not telling me."

Rory sighed. "We drank. Well, I drank. He had a beer and I had what amounted to a pitcher of margaritas."

Lorelai smiled, pleased with herself for sussing out the information at last. "And then?"

"We danced a little, okay?"

"You danced? In public?"

"I had tequila. You of all people know the effects of that particular beverage."

"I do. But usually when I drink tequila, I wake up in a man's bed, minus my underwear and plus a very bad headache."

Rory grabbed her mug and drained the last dregs. Lorelai gave a little gasp.

"Ohmygod! You went home with him?!"

"No, he was a perfect gentleman and saw me safely to my door."

"Oh, so he came home with you!"

"You're missing the point!"

Lorelai scoffed. "I think maybe you're missing the point. Oh, ooooh, is that why Greg brushed you off? He's still mad?"

"Greg is not brushing me off, because he doesn't know."

Lorelai's eyes went wide. "You didn't tell him?"

"Why would I tell him? Nothing happened!"

"Even if you'd kept a three-foot distance between you and Tristan the entire time you were out together, I'm pretty sure the man you're about to move in with would want to know if another man escorted your drunken self home."

"He walked me up and kept me from killing myself on the stairs. He only came in for a minute."

Lorelai smirked. "You invited him in?"

"He needed to use the bathroom."

"Of course he did."

"Stop trying to make this sound different than it was."

"So what did happen?"

Rory worried her bottom lip. "I'm not sure."

"Did you touch, other than the dancing?"

Rory shook her head. "Well, other than when he caught me on the stairs."

"So you don't have anything specific to feel guilty about, and yet you do anyway."

"He's just so…," she trailed off in thought.

"Handsome?"

"Yes, but that's not what I was looking for."

"Charming?"

"Again, yes, but," Rory dismissed.

"Tall?" Lorelai supplied.

"Will you stop guessing? He makes me uncomfortable and too comfortable, all at the same time. Is there a word for that?"

Lorelai nodded. "Absolutely. It's spelled, t-r-o-u-b-l-e."

Rory shivered in her seat. "I just… need to avoid him. I'm distracting myself from everything with Greg by inventing this confusion with Tristan."

"So… you're confused about Tristan and you need to distract yourself from Greg?"

"No, exactly the opposite," Rory argued.

Lorelai looked wholly bewildered. "Okay, now I'm confused."

Rory rolled her eyes. "Don't you see? I'm trying to avoid making a major decision about my future by giving myself too many options… creating complications that won't lead anywhere."

"You think you are fabricating feelings for Tristan to give you an excuse to avoid marrying Greg?"

"Maybe," Rory said, barely fooling herself, let alone her mother.

"I have a crazy thought. Why don't you just not agree to marry Greg and, oh, I don't know, kiss Tristan, just once or twice, to see how fabricated those feelings you might have are."

"That is crazy," Rory agreed.

"I see listening to reason and logic isn't going to work here. Let me ask you this, are you here now to avoid Greg or Tristan?"

Rory put her hands flat on the table and leaned in. "You don't understand. I run into him, Tristan, I mean. He's everywhere lately."

"Then maybe you shouldn't invite him to your apartment."

"I'm fairly certain he sees me as some kind of charity case, who can't navigate the world properly without his lead."

"If that's the case, then he's an idiot."

"Maybe I was over-exaggerating a little, but he zeros in on all my inadequacies and it's annoying."

"It gets you sort of flustered?" Lorelai posed.

"Very."

"All worked up and in need of some kind of release?" she continued.

Rory groaned. "Stop trying to make this dirty!"

"Fine, but you have to admit, it does seem like it could take a very sharp turn into dirty territory."

"But it's not going to. I'm practically engaged."

"But you're not engaged. You're dating, somewhat seriously, a very nice man that might not be the man for you."

"I'm dating Greg and no one else, so if you will kindly stop trying to plant seeds of doubt into the stability of my relationship, I would appreciate it very much. He's stable, not boring. There's a big difference."

Lorelai held up her hands in defense. "You don't have to listen to me. You like your visual aids, so make a list. Tristan versus Greg, pro-con, all out, to the death do we part list to end all lists!"

Rory grabbed another fry and took a bite. "You need to get out more."

"It's perfect timing. You're going to Spain, you have plenty of time to think and be neurotic and neither of them will see the list. You can eat it or burn it or whatever your chosen method of disposal is for such lists."

"Okay, one, I would never eat one of my lists. Two, I'll be working in Spain, not just lounging poolside and scribbling down my thoughts. And three, I don't need to make a list pitting them against each other. I'm not dating Tristan, therefore he's not a good foil for Greg and vice versa."

Lorelai banged her forehead on the table twice and groaned. "Will you just admit that you want to kiss Tristan?"

Rory considered the act. "If I were single, then I suppose it wouldn't be the worst eventuality."

Lorelai frowned. "That wasn't satisfying at all."

"Look, Mom, I'm just not wired to juggle feelings for guys. It tends to blow up in my face, harboring feelings for someone when I'm committed to someone else. I need to sort through my feelings for Greg, see if that's going to last, and then I can deal with Tristan if need be."

"And your method of not dealing with Tristan is avoiding him at all costs?"

"Pretty much."

"Because you might kiss him otherwise?"

Rory opened her mouth, but nearly choked on a confirmation. "That's … I don't," she began twice, never forming a proper response other than blushing.

Lorelai smiled, finally feeling triumphant. "My work here is done."

-X-

"You look great!"

Rory smiled, feeling pretty great, as she walked down the hall from the elevator. Natalie had met her there, wanting to prep her in person before they sat down at the meeting.

"I got a little sun in Spain, and a ton of great information. I hashed out the draft on the plane home, and turned it in on my way home and got a full eight hours sleep last night. I'm sort of on cloud nine right now," she admitted.

"Wonderful. So, the other lawyer's here, ready to go over the inheritance clause, and once we're through I'll send over the finalized version to Greg's lawyer. At that point, we might have a final sit down with them and this will be done."

Rory blinked. "We're that close?"

Natalie beamed. "Yes."

"You're amazing. I want to hug you right now!" Rory said. "I mean, I won't, I'm not really a hugger, but this is perfect. Greg and I had a really great talk two nights ago, which was insanely expensive, but we're ready to set a move-in date, and I think he's waiting for me to move in to propose, so this might be it. He might be it, the one."

Natalie ushered her into her office. "Then let's get cracking."

Rory's smile, as well as the rest of her body, froze the moment she crossed the threshold into Natalie's office to find Tristan sitting behind the desk in a suit, surrounded by notebooks, legal texts and an open leather briefcase. "Is Asher here?"

Tristan looked up and cocked his head. "I don't bring Asher into client meetings."

"But… what are you doing here?" Rory asked.

"He's the contract lawyer I use in inheritance cases," Natalie said, coming in behind her with coffee for each of them. "That isn't a problem for you, is it?"

"Not for me," Tristan said in a cool manner, accepting his coffee. "Rory?"

"It's not a problem, I'm just… surprised."

"How was Spain?" he asked, his tone friendly with an undercurrent of familiarity.

She continued to stare at him. "It was fine."

"You look tan."

"It was sunny," she said tersely.

"How's your door?" he inquired, with resolved calm.

"Locked," she snapped.

Natalie looked from one to the other, landing on Tristan. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

He rolled his eyes and stood up, following his ex into the hallway. Rory sat down stiffly in one of the two seats meant for clients, doing her best not to overhear the hushed tones that the exes used with each other. She caught few words despite her best efforts, Natalie urging him to be straight with her, and him telling her to mind her own business. She came back with a quip about him needing to separate his business from his personal life, and he told her he'd tried to do so years ago but she'd refused him the pleasure.

Rory started bouncing her foot, waiting for them to rejoin her. The door opened a minute later, and Rory turned to see Natalie grab Tristan by the elbow and pull him back so she could enter the room alone. She sat next to Rory and gave her a very polite, professional smile. Rory's eyes widened in nervous anticipation. She could guess what Natalie was going to say, and she didn't want to have to endure that conversation.

"You, as my client, are my top priority here. I want you to get what you need out of this, so I'm going to ask your permission before we go on with this meeting. If you want to bring in another lawyer to oversee this, we will reschedule and not speak of it again."

Rory shook her head. "No, honestly, that's not necessary."

Natalie fixed her with an eagle-eyed assessment. "Seriously, it won't hurt my feelings, or his. Do not worry about upsetting him."

"It's fine. He's annoying, but I know it won't affect his work."

Natalie smirked. "You do know him, huh?"

Rory froze in horror. "Not that well."

Natalie thought for a moment. "Should I give you two a minute?"

"No! I mean, it's not necessary," Rory repeated, feeling rather like a parrot.

"Just checking. Hang on."

Rory closed her eyes as Natalie went back out into the hall and there was more dampened arguing. When the door opened and closed again, she opened her eyes to see Tristan return alone. He cleared his throat with great irritation and leaned his posterior against the front of the desk, just in front of Rory. She looked up at him with uncertainty and waited for him to speak.

"Natalie wanted me to tell you that I will be on my best behavior from this point out, and that at no time will I encourage in you an urge to slap my person."

Rory couldn't quite hold back the giggle that shook her chest and shoulders. "Is this that behavior?"

He cocked his head. "I don't see how inquiring after your business trip was in any way inappropriate."

"It wasn't. I just wasn't sure how it might look to Natalie."

"Us talking?"

"You having knowledge as to my whereabouts."

"I'm hardly stalking you," he said. "If anything, you overtook my coffeehouse."

"You don't own the coffee shop, and besides once I'm done with my meetings with Natalie, I see no reason to go there anymore."

"You're going to stop drinking coffee? Is that in the prenuptial agreement?" he asked, being purposefully aloof.

"I don't exactly have a reason to come up to this part of town otherwise. My office is downtown, and once I start taking the train into the city, that's the only neighborhood I'll frequent most of the time."

His jaw set more firmly. "So you are moving in with him?"

"He really wants me to," she gushed a little. "We had this big, long cross-Atlantic phone call while I was gone, and he told me how much he missed me and how excited he was and all the things we could do, and how he thinks it's a really great measure of determining compatibility, as far as long-term plans go."

Tristan lifted a finger, gesturing for her to wait a second. "Hold on. I'm overcome with the romance of it all."

"You know what? Everything isn't about fun and dancing and tequila. That's fine for a night or two, but when you want to build a whole life, it has to be about more than that."

"I agree. But lots of people can be good roommates. Not everyone has the kind of chemistry that can sustain love in the long term."

"If you're so against the idea of me moving in with Greg, why are you here? You must have known I was the client. Why didn't you just tell Natalie you were too busy, that she should find someone else?"

"Because she wouldn't have let me get away with that, and it isn't my place to put in a vote for whether or not you move in with another guy."

They locked eyes, and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat, pounding like the organ was trying to find the nearest exit point. "I had it all sorted in my head. It makes sense."

"On paper?" he finished the thought that had hung in her mind as well.

"If you must know, yes."

"Does he know you had to make a list about him?"

"He sees the value of my lists," she argued. "They're practical."

"Do me a favor, never put me on one of your lists," he said bitterly.

"Not a problem, trust me," she bit back.

Natalie knocked at the door as she cracked it open. "Should we reschedule?"

"No," they both answered, making the single word sound utterly hostile.

Natalie sucked air in through her teeth. "Both of you want to go on the record as having no issue that could impede the work we plan to do?"

"Don't try to lawyer me, Nat," Tristan said.

"Then stop misleading me," she chastened him.

"I'm not misleading you, I'm withholding certain facts. Which, as I recall, you have no issue with."

"Maybe we should reschedule," Rory piped up, drawing back in her seat as she suddenly felt the mood shift to an old lovers' quarrel.

"Not necessary," Tristan said, cutting his eyes to her. For a second she felt like he was reassuring her. "We do this all the time."

"I would have to disagree. We work together all the time, but not like this," Natalie contended.

"There's no rush to get this done," Rory tried.

"You just told me you were ready to get this all wrapped up so you could start your lives together," Natalie said, disregarding her protest.

"You said that?" Tristan asked Rory.

"Well, in a manner of speaking, I said something similar," she said, bending under the weight of his scrutiny.

His gaze hardened. "Then let's get down to business. I'd hate to be the reason the two of you aren't happy."

"Tristan. Seriously. Hallway. Now," Natalie said sternly.

Tristan sighed and looked back at Rory. "Excuse us."

Rory could only nod as they took their leave again, wondering just how they were ever going to get through the afternoon. This time, more ominously, Rory couldn't actually hear anything, and a few minutes later Tristan returned to the room alone, resuming his seat on the opposite side of the desk with his supplies still in place.

Rory looked on as he settled in with curiosity, waiting for an explanation.

He appeared to be contending with the situation at hand, but was far more in control of his emotions than he'd been when they were a threesome. "Natalie will be back in a little while. We agreed that it was best, more expedient, for the two of us to hash out what I need, and then she could incorporate it from there."

"I see," Rory said simply.

He searched her eyes for any sign of disagreement. "If you'd rather she be here, I can call her. She'd just down at the coffee shop."

Rory shook her head. "No, it's probably better this way. Fewer voices in the fight and all that."

He gave a slight shake of his head. "I'm sorry about that. We get along for the most part, but she's one of the few people who know which buttons to push."

"It's okay if you're still harboring feelings for her. You were married, and you do share a child," Rory said, making a wide allowance for him.

"If I still had those kinds of feelings for her, we'd still be married."

"But I thought it was her idea to get a divorce," Rory remembered.

"That's the short version. We're here to discuss your future, not my past."

Rory pressed her lips closed, getting the message instantly. "Sorry."

"No need for apologies. So, Natalie sent me over everything she had collected as far as your family's wills are concerned. Do you want to look them over?"

She shook her head. "Isn't it just a bunch of legal speak that's recognizable as the English language?"

"It's no Hemingway," he said with a cheeky smile.

"I honestly don't care what it says," she informed him.

"I get that, but you should care. It's your life. It's your money. Whether you plan to donate it the day after you get it or you buy an island or save it for your own heirs, you need to know."

She couldn't disagree. "Okay, so what does it amount to? Fifty grand?"

Tristan snorted. "Are you kidding me?"

She sighed in exasperation. "I wasn't raised with a trust fund or constant reminders of how much I'd have to live on if I failed to marry well."

"Your father has set aside just over three million, and your grandparents' assets that will fall in your stead amount to four and a half million dollars."

"Seven and a half million? Dollars?"

"Well, before estate taxes. There are ways around those, but yes. Seven and a half million dollars. If you'd like the current exchange rates for other currencies, I can get those for you."

"I … don't know what to say. What assets are involved in my grandparents' estate?"

He flipped through some paperwork. "Cars, land, their house, some artwork, and cash on hand as well as investments."

"Their house?"

"It's not like you have to live in it. The will has been updated recently with current market value, and real estate, excluding the fiasco it's been in the last few years, is generally a solid investment. Especially in key areas."

"It's not that I'm worried about its worth, it's just their house. I can't imagine having to go through it and sort through all the china and sets of silver service and awful presents that my grandmother stored from my Gran that she kept in storage and her shoes," she said, overcome with emotion as she thought of the memories attached to the things in that house.

"You can hire people to do that kind of thing."

She gaped at him. "I cannot let a stranger sort through my family's personal items like that."

"This is all theoretical. Your family is still alive, and I hope in good health."

"It's just the idea itself."

"We haven't even gotten to how it would be divided after you're married."

She frowned. "I have options?"

"You always have options," he said. "And even when you might not, that's what loopholes are for."

She considered what options she would feel comfortable with, in terms of dividing up her family's wealth and memories. "Well, the fair thing to do would be to split everything with my spouse down the middle, right?"

"Ideally," he agreed lightly. "It might make a difference as to what kind of relationship you have. For instance, will this spouse be the one to sit with you in your grandmother's shoe closet, helping you sort through all the items and stopping to hold you while you cry, or will he be nagging at you to just hire someone to take care of it quickly when it's not what you want to do?"

"How can I know that?" she asked, not being one to attempt to read her future.

His expression softened. "If you think about it, you'll find you already know."

She felt her breath hitch in her throat again. "Are you being lawyer-Tristan, or are you hinting that you think I'm making a mistake?"

"I told you, it's not my place to guide you to in any direction in the matter, as a lawyer especially, or otherwise. I'm just providing you with options."

"Really? You, who has had an opinion on everything from my door lock to how I spend my free time, you have no opinion? How can I believe that? I'm sure you've probably read the contents of my prenuptial agreement, so why won't you just tell me what you think?"

"I think are two votes in a relationship, those being the people in that relationship. I'm not the one asking you to sign papers, buying you a house in a city you don't want to live, or envisioning a life with you that has little to do with your bucket list."

"You think I'm making a huge mistake."

"I think if you want me to have a say in your romantic relationships, then you have the wrong boyfriend," he snapped.

She was stunned, recovering too slowly to cover her hurt. "I'm sorry. You said you weren't that guy. You told me, and I should have listened. I guess I just misread your suggestions for concern."

He made a fist and knocked on the desk impatiently. "I want to help you. I do. But all I can do right now is get your inheritance lined out as you wish in regards to a prenuptial agreement with Greg Turner."

"I get it," she said quickly.

"If you want to talk to me about something else, we should go somewhere else," he said, confusing her.

"You want to just go… now?"

It seemed to be taking all his restraint to remain in his seat. "I said if you wanted."

"It's not like I want to talk about money or a prenuptial agreement."

"What do you want to do?"

She tossed her hands up in the air. "I want to go to Hartford and tell my grandparents to leave that money to fund literacy programs and that I don't need monetary compensation for dealing with their final requests."

"What about your boyfriend?"

She straightened her spine, feeling brave for being ready to say what she'd thought in the back of her mind all along, since she first laid eyes on Greg's first draft. "If he won't marry me without this, then maybe he shouldn't be my boyfriend, let alone my husband."

He shut his notepad. "Natalie's going to blame me for you changing your mind."

"I don't want to be the reason you two are fighting," she added.

"She hasn't yelled at me in far too long. It's good for her to vent her frustrations. I can take it."

Rory let out a breath. "Is that it?"

He shrugged. "What else is there? If you don't want to sign it, there's no point in drafting it."

"It just seems so anticlimactic, I guess."

"You writers, always looking for the denouement," he teased.

"What about us?"

He cocked his head as he considered her. "What about us?"

"Well, it's just, we've been thrown together a lot lately, what with me meeting with Natalie, and needing to be near her office. Now that it's done," she led.

"Is this your way of admitting that you'll miss me?" he asked without attempting to hide his pleasure.

"Miss is a strong word," she warned.

"You know how to find me if you need me. Please, at least promise me that when you do come into money, earned or inherited, you'll let me draw up a proper will. You should have one already, but I doubt that's the case."

"Right. If I need you," she repeated hollowly.

"You can go. I'll explain things to Natalie."

"Oh. If you're sure."

"Don't worry, she'll be rooting for Greg to not care about the pre-nup. She's a hopeless romantic under all the legal mumbo-jumbo."

Rory nodded. "Well. It's been…," she began, frowning as she found herself lost for the proper term.

"Interesting?" he supplied.

"I think I was going more for complicated," she said at last.

"And how," he said as he watched her prepare to leave. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," she said quietly as she took her leave of the office for the last time, hoping not to run into Natalie on the way. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to properly explain to anyone else what had transpired in that office without admitting to feelings she wasn't ready to deal with.

-X-

"You're the devil."

"It was her idea not to draft the damn thing," he repeated for the fourth time, sliding the plate of nachos at her. "Do you need another drink?"

"I knew I shouldn't have left you alone in the room with her. Every cell in my brain was screaming at me to stay put and yet I trusted you. You're trustworthy in so many different ways, but with her, I knew better."

"Nat, relax. It was her decision. I'm willing to sit for a polygraph."

She snorted. "Yeah, because you can't control your biorhythms? Please."

"I'm not a liar," he reminded her.

"No, you're not. That's the worst part of it all. You're a good guy, and yet here I am, with a client that's disappeared and who is probably out there either getting her heart broken or her finances destroyed."

"She's not stupid," he assured her. "Naïve at times, but not stupid. I made sure she understood the ramifications of her future financial situation, as I'm sure did you."

"Here's a newsflash, Tristan. Women do stupid things for men they love. Smart, confident, accomplished women, do the most moronic things in the world all because some guy flirts with her when she needs it most."

"I don't want to hear about your love life," he said, popping a chip into his mouth.

"What is the deal with you two, anyway? You both said you never dated, but something happened. What gives?"

He waved her and her question away. "Nothing."

"Don't make me force you to talk. I'm tired and you cost me a client. You owe me."

"I didn't get paid either," he reminded her.

"Yes, but you already gave her free legal work, didn't you?" she snipped back.

"I was doing an old friend a favor."

"Now she's an old friend? How chummy were you, and how badly did you screw it up?"

"It doesn't matter. You have other clients. She has a boyfriend with marriage aspirations. I bought you nachos, so we're even."

"Nachos won't make this go away. You're hiding something from me."

"It's stupid," he told her plainly.

"As in it makes you look stupid? Because I think you owe me that tonight," she said expectantly.

He sighed and took a drink of his water. "I liked her, okay? Back in high school, I had a big, stupid crush on her, and she hated me. I wore her down to barely tolerating me when she had to, and then I went to military school. End of story."

"I thought you dated every girl in your class," she said, remembering the way Paris had described their former prep-school glory days.

He cleared his throat. "I did. All except her."

"Oh, I get it," she said with a finger snap.

"You don't get anything," he said, trying to shut her down.

"She got to you, and it's this big defining moment. Does she even know?"

"That she wouldn't go out with me? Yes, she was the one saying no all the time," he added glibly.

"But did she know you really liked her? Or did you let her think she was just part of a collection you wanted to complete?"

"Nice way to speak to the father of your child," he complained.

"Come on. I heard the stories. You dated a lot of girls."

"So?"

"So, girls want to feel special, not like cattle."

"At no time did I treat her, or any other girl, like a farm animal."

"Do yourself, and me as well, a favor and tell her you like her."

"I will not, because this is not high school," he said with wounded pride.

"This all does make you look stupid," she informed him.

"I'd rather be stupid and move on than attempt to steal a woman who is about to marry someone else."

"You honestly think those two should get married?"

He gaped at her. "What happened to professional detachment?"

"Oh, please! They're so wrong for each other!"

"That's none of my business," he said, refusing to engage. "Or yours."

"You're going to let her marry some guy who isn't going to make her happy?"

"That's her choice."

"You should at least give her all the information for her to make a proper, informed decision."

"Why can't you be a normal ex-wife, who loathes me and refuses to speak to me on principle?"

"I'm right though, you do still have feelings for her? It's not just the nostalgia of young, unrequited love?"

"She wasn't interested then, and she's not interested now. I gave her the option of saying something. She doesn't want my hat in the ring, okay?"

"I don't know about then, but I can tell you that at least part of her is interested now, not that she'd admit it easily. Which possibly makes you perfect for each other."

"Or likely to kill one another," he opted.

Natalie shrugged a shoulder. "I vote that you get over yourself and tell her in no uncertain terms how you feel. But what do I know? I only gave birth to your son."

"You want to bring Asher into this? Fine. She doesn't even want kids."

"You've talked about having kids?"

He failed to meet her triumphant gaze. "It came up."

"How much time have you been spending with her, exactly?"

"Never mind. I told you before, she's not interested in getting involved with me."

"Okay, okay," she relented, seeing he was past his breaking point. The kid issue seemed to be a sore spot for him—it always had been. "But you'll still be available for future professional collaborations, right?"

He sighed. "Like you've ever given me a choice?"

"I take back the devil thing. You're the best."

He stood up and kissed her on the cheek after he collected his jacket, set to leave her with the rest of the nachos. "Don't forget it."


	6. Chapter 6

Legal Advisement

Chapter Six

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

Rory stopped short of her front door, checking the peep hole as her hand rested on the lock. She flipped it quickly as she saw Greg in her diffusely lit hall, and opened it eagerly. Next to him was a very large box that he handled as if it were fairly light for its size.

"Thanks for coming over so fast," she said gratefully, eyeing the box. "What's that?"

"A surprise," he said mysteriously. "You seemed excited to discuss what happened at your lawyer's office, so I wasted no time."

"We should sit, maybe," she said, offering him a seat on her tiny love seat. He followed her directive and waited, leaving the box near her door. She took a deep breath before proceeding toward him. "I don't want to sign a pre-nup."

He frowned at the news he hadn't expected. "But we agreed that it made sense."

She tilted her head side-to-side a few times. "Yeah, well, I guess it probably is the smart thing to do, but I hate the whole process. When my lawyer adds things that are in my best interest in, I feel like I'm shortchanging you, and when I read the things your lawyer tries to include, it makes me feel like you don't trust me. And I don't believe either of those emotions pertains to how we feel about each other."

He didn't laugh, but his smile was sarcastic. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were about to talk about how love overcomes everything and you wanted us to favor romance over common sense."

She bit her lip. It was time to be strong and stick to her true feelings, without concern to maintaining the status quo. She was done with the status quo. "Are you saying you won't marry me without a pre-nup?"

"I won't marry anyone without a pre-nup," he said evenly, as if there were no emotion to the decision at all. His expression softened slightly as he watched her face fall. "Rory, I love you. You know that. This is for your protection as well as mine, in the event of highly unlikely instance that we dissolve a marriage."

"Not to bolster your argument for a pre-nup, but the divorce rate is fifty percent," she pointed out. "Those aren't great odds, let alone offering an outcome of success being highly likely."

"Twenty years ago, perhaps, but I believe it's closer to forty percent now."

"Still. That's two in five couples."

"And most of those couples don't look at marriage the way we do, with reasonable expectations of partnership and a willingness to accept that you have to treat it like any other commitment, even when it's not perfect."

"So if you think our odds are so good, why insist on the pre-nup?" she asked.

"I want to be in a marriage with someone who is takes the institution as seriously as I do. Don't you?"

"Yes, but I don't think that having a pre-nup is any kind of measure of that."

"Are you saying you went through all the effort of hashing out the document, and now you won't sign it?" he asked, truly flummoxed at the idea.

"I didn't hash it out all the inheritance stuff; I left before we could draft anything. I have a lot going on with my career right now, and I don't want to think about all my loved ones dying and the ramifications of that when my marriage falls apart on my infinitesimal time off. I want to enjoy life right now without hyper-focusing on all the stuff that might go wrong later."

"You won't sign?" he reiterated, his features set stoically.

She swallowed hard, her nerves flooding her system just before she gave her answer, knowing what it meant. "I won't. It's not what I want."

"You don't want to get married?"

She shook her head. "Not like this."

He let out a long breath. He stood up slowly and walked back over to the surprise he'd brought along. "Okay, then. I guess you won't need these."

She looked to the big box. "What is it?"

"Boxes. You seemed excited to move, so I thought we could celebrate the progress of the pre-nup by packing."

"I guess I don't, then," she agreed, already feeling a little numb. "I'm sorry. I really did love how things were."

"Do you want time to think it over?" he asked with a flicker of hope.

"Do you?" she asked.

"I'm not going to change my mind. Maybe we weren't as perfect a match as I thought."

"Maybe not," she agreed hollowly

He ran a hand over her cheek slowly. "I guess I should get going."

"I guess so," she said, watching as he took his cargo with him, leaving her in her single-girl apartment with its crappy lock.

-X-

Rory held the phone up to her ear, packing back and forth from her refrigerator to her sofa, a short distance but she'd gone between them enough time to add up some miles. Her body was in shock—she'd lost another relationship, and not due to a lack of good intentions on either part. It all seemed to come down to details with her, and these stupid roadblocks she didn't expect.

"Hey! I didn't expect to hear from you tonight."

"Is it a bad time?"

"For you? Never. What's up?" her mother asked with genuine interest.

Rory heard a man's voice, a familiar one that she'd known most of her life, just in the background on her mother's end of the line. "Are you with Luke?"

"Affirmative. We're on our way to dinner. I brought him a CD for the truck, and he's refusing to even put it in."

"What CD?"

"One that is wholly appropriate for both his mode of transportation and our destination for the evening. It's some country album, and there's a song about a truck and a honkytonk on it. A guest left it in one of the rooms."

"You're going to a honkytonk?"

"I talked him into taking me to his bar, the one out in Woodbridge, where he goes to get away from it all."

"Meaning you."

"Do you go there to get away from me?" she asked Luke with mild shock, who uttered a thank you to Rory from his side of the cab into the receiver.

"Sorry, Luke!" Rory called out, hoping he heard. "I'll let you go. Enjoy your honkytonking."

"Wait, did you need something?"

"No, not really. I'll tell you all about it later. Maybe I'll come up in a couple of days and have lunch with you."

"Add shoe shopping to that, and you've got a deal."

"Done."

Rory hung up, feeling the need to control the situation. She knew how to cope with failed relationships. She needed bad movies, of which she owned plenty, and copious amounts of her favorite sugared treats. She went straight to the freezer, finding it to contain only a bottle of vodka and a couple of frozen dinners. She knew her fridge had some Chinese that needed to be tossed and random condiments—nothing to aid her in her quest. Given the fact that she hadn't started crying and she was still dressed from her day, she grabbed her purse and set out to get whatever comfort food appealed to her most, and plenty of it.

She took a cab, figuring if there were ever a time to coddle herself, the midst of post-breakup stress was it. She needed expediency, because the clock was ticking on her succumbing to her ugly crying phase of coping. She intended to be on her sofa in her sweatpants when that happened, with enough sugar to sustain the sobbing.

She gave the address without thinking too much about it. She had a sudden craving for cinnamon rolls, and the best she'd had lately was at the coffee shop near Natalie's office. She could buy out their remainder for the day, and be on her way without incident she was positive. Tristan tended to hang out there in the day, but it was well after school hours and he was probably either at work or with his kid.

The shop was relatively empty, given the fact it would be closing soon, and she made a quick scan of both the clientele and the bakery case before approaching the register.

"Can I help you?"

Rory stared at the picked over bakery offerings. "Um, maybe. Are you all out of cinnamon rolls?"

He nodded. "Usually by four every day," he acknowledged. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Well," she said, her plan busted. "Maybe. The brownies look good. How are the cranberry muffins?"

He shrugged. "They can get a little dry."

"Maybe I should have some coffee first," she said, causing him to turn to grab a to-go cup, probably a suggestion, and filled it with their house brew.

"Can we get brownies now?"

Rory turned to see a young boy coming from the restrooms, his father at his heels with a leisurely pace. "Yes, but we're saving them for after dinner, remember."

"I know, Dad."

Rory stood there, even after the barista slid her cup of coffee onto the counter behind her, staring at Tristan and his son as they approached. "Tristan."

He nodded. "Rory."

Asher tugged at his dad's hand. "Dad? Can I order?"

"Wait your turn," Tristan instructed.

"Oh, I'm done," Rory said, turning to hand over her cash for the coffee.

"No brownies?" the barista asked.

"I want brownies!" Asher said happily.

The barista eyed the adults. "How many do you need?"

"Two, to go," Tristan said, putting in their order before turning to Rory. "We're here for celebratory brownies. Asher was the best speller in his class at the school assembly, and they're his favorite."

"That's the best reason I can think of for needing brownies," Rory said, smiling at the boy.

"We're getting pizza, too," he added.

"As you should for being the best speller in your class. I won the Stars Hollow Spelling Bee three years in a row when I was in elementary school," she told him with a smile.

His eyes widened. "Did you get brownies?"

She winked at him. "Hot fudge sundaes, with extra whipped cream. We tended to celebrate with lots of dairy at my house."

"Did your mother have a padded room for you to bounce safely off the walls afterward?" Tristan asked with a smirk.

Rory squinted at him. "I have a very good metabolism," she informed him.

"I was wondering what your secret was," he said as he put his hand on his son's shoulder reflexively.

"Do you want to eat brownies with us?" Asher asked Rory.

She blinked, taking in the invitation for what it was. She felt her heart melt a little, though she knew she didn't have much choice other than to turn him down in the nicest way possible. "Oh, that's very sweet, but I'm not sure I'd be very good company. I don't want to ruin your celebration."

"You don't like brownies?" he asked skeptically.

Tristan, knowing better, appeared concerned. "Everything okay?"

Rory brushed hair off her forehead with her hand. "Oh, I'm fine. And I do like brownies, in fact I was thinking about ordering some to take home too."

Asher considered her in his five-year-old manner. "You shouldn't eat brownies alone, that's sad. You can come to our house, and have pizza first. We're going to watch _Cars_," he said, to sweeten the pot.

"Again," Tristan interjected in a faux-excited tone.

"Dad," Asher groaned.

"Hey, I'm just happy we moved on from _Finding Nemo_," he said diplomatically, tousling his son's dark blonde hair.

"Not a fish fan?" Rory asked, unable to suppress her amusement.

"I started rooting for the sharks after the first seventy-five viewings," he admitted.

"It's gonna be great. Will you come?" Asher asked.

Rory looked to Tristan for guidance, and he caught her silent call for help. "Hey, Ash, she's probably got plans already. Not to say she isn't welcome if she doesn't."

"It's sweet of you to offer to include me," Rory told him. "But you guys want to celebrate together. I don't want to intrude on a family thing."

"Dad always says the more the merrier, right?" Asher asked.

Rory cocked her head at Tristan. "You say that?"

"It's not an intrusion. It's Asher's night, and he invited you. That's all I need to know."

Rory met Tristan's eye again. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Tristan nodded and bent down to Asher. "Can you pay for the brownies?"

Asher lit up. "Can I have your credit card?"

Tristan laughed. "Not a chance," he said, handing over a bill from his wallet and whispering in his son's ear. "Can you do that?"

Asher nodded and stepped up to the counter. Tristan pulled Rory aside out of ear shot. "What's up?"

"That kid is so sweet."

Tristan smiled appreciatively. "So why are you turning him down?"

She glanced down to her shoes. She knew it was only a matter of time before tears breached their banks, but saying it out loud would most likely hasten the process, and she wasn't keen on having a breakdown in public. "I, um, talked to Greg? And things didn't go as I expected," she said haltingly.

He leaned in, concern gracing his features. "What happened?"

"We had a difference of opinion, about the necessity of the pre-nup. Given the divide of our feelings on the subject, we decided it was better if I didn't move in to the house in Greenwich. And then we broke up."

She was holding it together far better than she might have thought, but being close to Tristan was having other unforeseen effects. She was suddenly in the mood for Pixar movies, for instance. He, on the other hand, seemed to be making a decision. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."

"I can't ask you to do that. You have a rule about not exposing him to women, don't you?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't make him live in a bubble. That rule is to keep from scarring him with sights of half-naked women that will foster a rift of resentment between the two of us before he hits his preteen years."

Her eyebrows shot up. "How specifically phrased that was."

"Unless you plan on scarring my son in some way, and given the fact that he invited you himself, I see no way in which I'm breaking any of my house rules by having you watch Pixar films with us."

"Should I be aware of more house rules?" she asked, nearly serious.

One edge of his mouth turned up, causing a quickening of her pulse. "Asher will keep you in line. He's quite the disciplinarian."

"He must get that from his mother," she said, smiling up at him.

"Go make my son's night. He deserves it," he said, nudging her toward the counter.

"Can you come over? I bought you a brownie," Asher said as she made her approach.

"How can I resist that kind of offer?" Rory asked, giving him a nod in confirmation. "Besides, it beats my plan for the evening."

"Ice cream and bad music?" Tristan guessed as they made for the exit.

"Close. Cinnamon rolls and bad movies," she admitted.

"It's a good thing we came along when we did," Tristan said, turning them toward their subway entrance. "Tonight we have only the best."

-X-

The movie was barely at the half-way mark, but the festivities were definitely over. The guest of honor was fast asleep, his head resting on Rory's arm and his brownie merely a smattering of crumbs on the coffee table. Tristan sat on the other side of his slumbering son, his arm outstretched across the back of the couch as he looked at his kid to assess just how out he was.

He cleared his throat lightly and stood up, before bending at the waist to slide his arms under his son. "I'm just gonna put him to bed."

"Not a night owl, huh?" Rory whispered as she watched Asher's head lolling back before curling into his father's chest.

"His aspirations are greater than his drive," Tristan joked, heading to the hall. Rory stretched her back and grabbed the blanket Asher had been under on the couch, folding it up and laying it neatly over the back of the couch. She took in the few dishes that needed to be taken care of to the kitchen, feeling the natural end to the evening loom just ahead. It was the best kind of distraction, to have been able to be in a real home with a smart kid and enjoy such a simple night of celebration. Going home would mean facing the fact that she'd had yet another perfectly good relationship go south for reasons that pointed to her being fundamentally incapable of sustaining a meaningful connection with a fellow human being.

"Hey," Tristan said, poking his head into the kitchen. "I thought maybe you left."

She spun and shook her head. "Just cleaning up."

"Not necessary. Besides, your presence is being requested."

She frowned. "By you?"

He smiled at her assumption. "Asher wants a story."

"He wants me to read to him?"

"Oh, no. He said since you're a writer, he wanted you to make up one for him."

"I'm not that kind of writer," she said, suddenly nervous.

"He's five. He's easily impressed."

"He might be five, but he's smart. He'll know a lame story when he hears one."

"Luckily for you, he tends to nod off after the first few lines of any story," he said. "He's exhausted. He just wants you to tuck the cover in around him and use pleasant tones while you speak. Throwing in a character with the same name as his is always a crowd-pleaser, as well."

"You should do it, you're the expert."

"Yes, but he doesn't have a crush on me."

"He does not have a crush on me," she protested. "I'm far too old for him."

"That's how it starts—a boy's first crush is always an older woman. Besides, why wouldn't he have a crush on you?"

She smiled at him, a little embarrassed and a little honored. "I'll tuck him in. But if he stays awake after the young prince gets to the castle for the spelling bee, you're taking over."

He nodded with a pleased smile. "Deal."

Asher's room was what one might expect of a little boy's room. There was a mix of interests, from cars to dinosaurs to a moon that was lit up in phases on the wall. His bookcase was filled to excess, an issue she'd always had herself, even as an adult. Too many books and not enough space or time. He was already in bed, snuggled up with a stuffed dog that was slightly battered but not really worse for the wear—clearly a well-loved friend.

"You wanted a story?" she asked as she entered the room, immediately looking for where she should sit. There was no other chair in the room to draw up to the bed. Asher scooted over to make room for her on one side, and she glanced at Tristan, now framed in the doorway, for silent permission. He gave her a slight nod, barely a gesture, and she sat on top of the covers next to Asher.

Remembering what Tristan said, she smoothed out the cover and nestled the edges around his arms. "All comfy?"

He nodded and yawned, his eyes already heavy again. "Is it a happy story?"

Rory assured him. "Very happy. It's a story about a boy who dreams of being a knight and living in a castle, who finds out he's actually destined to be a king."

She simplified the beginning of a story she'd loved in her youth, the tale of _The Sword in the Stone_, borrowing Asher's name for the protagonist and suiting it better to her needs in the moment. True to his father's word, Asher was out before the sword was pulled from the stone. Rory got up slowly as to not jostle the mattress, and Tristan stepped forward to secure the stuffed dog and turn on the nightlight. She waited for him in the hall until he shut Asher's door and gestured for her to join him in the living room.

"Well, now I totally get why you get hit on at the park. That's the kind of kid that makes people want to have one," she complimented him.

"Are you going to give me your number?" he joked, though he was playing it close to the vest on how serious he was being.

"I have it on good authority you don't use those numbers."

He shrugged. "There's always one exception to every rule, right?"

"I really appreciate you letting me hang out with you guys tonight. I'm not really ready to face the end of another relationship."

He sat down on the couch and leaned back. "You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "There's not much to say. I told him I didn't want to sign a pre-nup, not because of him, but just because I didn't like the implications. That was all it took—my wanting him to love me enough to marry me without needing a safeguard for when we divorced made him not want to get married at all."

"Is that what you wanted? To marry him?" Tristan asked.

"I don't know. Until the pre-nup, he'd never given me a reason not to want to."

"You must be looking for more than that," he said.

She sat down, a whole cushion away from him. "I just want to be with someone and have it feel right, like a perfect fit, regardless of everything else. It's never been that way for me, not really. There's always been something in all my relationships, where I knew there was something that would throw it off course. Part of me liked that, because it gave me an out, so I could stay focused on my career," she admitted.

"It's easy to use your career to hide from your significant other," he agreed.

She considered him expectantly. "You did that?"

"At the end, yeah. I took on way too much and burned myself out and tried to avoid dealing with the fact that our marriage wasn't working. It was hard, because I loved being home, being with Asher and being his dad. Nat and I, we'd been such good friends, and sharing him gave us this mutual love for something greater than ourselves, but it wasn't enough. And that… admitting that, sucked."

She sank back against the couch. "Why is life so complicated? Why can't people just fall in love and be happy?"

He gazed at her from his end of the couch. "Do you want me tell you it's better to find out now, before you got married or had kids together?"

She made a face. "Not particularly."

"Then I won't," he said with a smile the proved he believed it. "What can I do?"

She shook her head, running her fingers down a loose thread from the blanket. "I've been through it all before. It would be nice not to keep losing relationships over things like pieces of paper and mistimed jewelry offerings."

"You need a drink."

She glanced quickly to the hall. "You son is sleeping down the hall."

"I wasn't gonna wake him up and make him join in. I find whiskey goes best with break-up talk, I don't know why," he said as he stood up to get drinks.

She stood up and followed him, at his heels in protest. "I don't need a drink."

He turned without warning, and she came up short of running him over. He put his hands on the outside of her upper arms. His hands were warm and comforting and she wanted to melt into them. "I'm not suggesting you drink to forget, just have enough to take the edge off. It helps."

"What else helped?" she asked softly when he didn't move or let go of her.

"My marriage fell apart over the course of a couple of years. Mistakes were made. It wasn't all as simple as refusing to sign a pre-nup. Not everything I did was exemplary or helpful. But I stand by the shot of whiskey at the outset."

She wanted to know more, but figured it would be easier if he volunteered the information. "But you and Natalie get along so well now. You must have done something right."

"What I did right," he said, letting go of her and reaching into the cabinet over the fridge, far away from the reach of a child, to pull out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. "Is a short list. Natalie and I were always honest with each other, sometimes to a painful degree, and we did our best to put our son's needs above our own. I'm not saying we always succeeded, but looking back those were our strengths. Luckily for you, all you have to do is get over the loss of the man you were in love with."

She accepted a tumbler with ice and just more than a taste of hard alcohol and took a sip. It burned at first, but then the sting spread into a heat that went from her throat to her stomach. It was oddly satisfying, and she took another sip. "I already have a time-tested method for that."

He raised his eyebrows. "You already have all the answers? Please, enlighten me. I might need to know for the next time."

"It's just what I was planning before I ran into you tonight. Tons of junk food and really sappy movies, which would set off my crying response and let me get it over with, get it all out at once. My mom calls it wallowing."

He paused, the drink not quite to his lips. "You have to make yourself cry?"

"I tend to hold my feelings in," she said, looking away. "There's more to it."

"Such as?"

"Not showering or shaving. Turning off my phone. Wearing sweatpants."

"No offense, but I'm glad I ran into you on this end of your wallowing."

"You don't leave the house once you get going. I was out to get supplies. I knew, the second he left, that I'd be at the mercy of takeout if I didn't act fast. And all that sounded good were those cinnamon rolls."

"I've never had a break up that sounded remotely like what you're describing."

"What do you do after a break up?"

"I'm usually in a state of heightened emotion. I don't have the mental space to prepare for my reaction, I'm too busy reacting. I drink a little too much. I approach inappropriate women. I got into a bar fight after one particularly nasty break-up. Then I sleep it off, and start putting things back together. Filling my days with things that help me deal. After Natalie, that was spending time with Asher. I took a month off work that summer and we spent the whole time at the house on the beach, swimming and fishing."

Rory nodded. "I'll probably throw myself into my work."

"Isn't that pretty isolating? I tried that, to avoid dealing with what was happening, when things really started going south. You should get out more, spend time with people."

She shrugged. "I don't know a lot of people in New York. My friends are pretty scattered, and my family's in Connecticut, but even though it's close I don't see them as much as I'd like."

"You should make time for them. And you do know people in New York," he said, offering himself as proof.

"Thanks. I can't thank you enough for having me over tonight."

"Anytime."

"I should go. I think I will take some time off, since I'm between assignments. I'm going up to see my mom this weekend, maybe I'll just stay the week and get away from the ghosts of my ruined relationship, and get some perspective."

"You're going to be in Hartford next week?" he asked, obviously making some mental connection.

"Well, Stars Hollow, but yeah, why?"

He put his drink on the counter, now containing only melting ice. "This is my week with Asher, and I have to meet my father next Thursday to discuss some things. I hate leaving him with their staff while we talk, but it's better than exposing him our discussions. I wouldn't ask just anyone to watch him, but since he has a crush on you, and you're going to be in the area, is that something you'd be up for?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You'd want me to watch Asher?"

"It's a better option than my usual ones. He likes you and you're trustworthy."

"What about your mom?"

"She's a day drinker. I don't leave my son alone with her, or my father, but for different reasons. Our relationship is primarily business related, and strained at the best of times. Their house isn't much of a place to take a kid, and I speak from experience of growing up there. From what little I remember of your town, it was like a storybook had sprung to life. And I wouldn't worry about him, if he were with you."

"That is a lot of faith in me and my ability not to harm or lose your kid."

"Asher's pretty self-sufficient. He is the best speller in his class, after all," he said, adding his charming smile to sweeten the pot.

Rory smiled back. "If it would help you out, I'm sure I could find something fun for us to do while you're busy. How long are we talking?"

"A couple of hours. Three max," he added. "You'll do it?"

Rory nodded. "Sure. It'll be nice to help you for a change."

Tristan snapped his fingers. "I remember something else I do after a break up, you should really try."

Her eyes widened again, wondering if he was about to put a move on her. While it wouldn't be wholly unwelcome, it did seem she should take part in some sort of mourning period over Greg. Kissing someone the same day she broke up with him seemed in bad form. "What… what's that?"

"I always, always have my locked changed," he said without so much as batting an eye.

She rolled her eyes. "I thought you were serious."

"I am! Did he have a key to your apartment? Because those things never get returned, and it's a good practice to change locks if there's anyone with a key you don't want coming in. And, you know, in your case, you need to have them changed anyway, so it's killing two birds with one stone."

"Greg never had a key to my place."

He didn't hide his surprise. "He didn't?"

"No. Why, is that weird? You're looking at me like it was really weird."

He cringed. "I am not here to judge your relationship."

"Why is it so weird?"

He scratched at the back of his neck in an absent way, though the fidgeting bought him some time. "I just… figured, since the two of you were thinking about moving in together, you'd already gone through the other stages of co-habitation. The early, cute if not completely nauseating, symbolic ones."

"Like giving each other keys?"

He nodded. "That and clearing a drawer out for each other. Keeping a toothbrush in his bathroom, him stashing a razor in yours. In certain instances a section of closet is offered, though in your apartment I can see where that was an impossibility."

She stared off into space, lost in thought. "We didn't do any of that. There were no symbols. No cuteness. Nothing except the pre-nup falling out of his briefcase and me finding it accidentally."

"Every relationship is different," he backtracked, not wanting to make her feel worse than she already did.

She winced at his obvious pity and put her glass down. "Thanks for tonight. I should go. I was serious about not being good company before. It's starting to sink in now," she told him honestly.

"You don't have to go. You're fine," he assured her.

"That's sweet. Not quite as sweet as your son, but still. I appreciate it, and I promise I'll be on my game while I have Asher with me. A few days at home will do me good."

"You're sure you want to be alone? You're no burden to me, and I have a guest room. I sort of hate you heading off by yourself at night."

She squared her shoulders. "I'm an adult, and I should get used to the idea of being alone. It doesn't feel like I will ever make a relationship work in the long term. There seems to be something fundamentally wrong with my ability to keep a man's allegiance."

"You can't take all the blame. Natalie has this theory, being in the business she is, and she repeated it over and over to me while we were in the midst of the worst of it all. She said that if two people were going to last, they both had to give it their all, all the time. And it takes more than just good intentions for that, and all we had were good intentions. It takes an irrational dedication."

"Then I am probably truly screwed," she moaned.

He smirked. "You just need someone you're crazy about. Crazy helps when it comes to love."

"You view mental instability as a romantic boon?" she asked.

"Success often requires a bit of obsession, a bit of unorthodox thinking. Think about your job, and how much time you commit to that and how easy it is to shut out everything else when you're focused on it. When you meet a guy that inspires that same drive, then it won't come down to a pre-nup or a disagreement about how committed to be how quickly. It won't matter, as long as you're together. You'll want the same things."

"Do you believe that?"

He thought for a moment. "I want to."

She nodded solemnly. "I think I do too."

-X-

Natalie blinked at him from over her cup of coffee. "Are you asking my permission? We've already discussed this kind of thing. I trust your judgment."

Tristan sat back, preparing himself for the spiel. He knew Natalie so well and could anticipate her mocking of him from just her expression. "Not exactly asking permission, but he is your son. You do get a say in who provides care for him, especially when it's not one of our usual people."

"Yes, but as his father, I trust you to choose said care wisely. I think we both know that having a woman watch your kid for you isn't the best way to get laid. If you're doing this to get her to go out with you, you might want to rethink your plan of action. As a dating tactic, it's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"That isn't what this is about. Would you like him to be at my parents' house?"

Natalie wrinkled her nose. "God, no. I don't even understand why you continue to talk to them."

He sighed heavily. "Let's not get into that."

"What I don't understand is, if you are interested in this woman, why you'd ask her to babysit. That's worse than falling into the friend zone. Just ask her out already."

"First of all," he began judiciously.

"Oh, no, not a 'first of all,'" she groaned.

"First of all," he said again, slightly louder. "She just broke up with that guy, with whom she was in a fairly significant relationship."

Natalie rolled her eyes. "She'll be fine in no time. One night at a bar, raking in phone numbers will do wonders for her ego. And don't think that won't happen, and fast."

"Second of all," he continued, ignoring his ex, "I don't want to put Asher in the position of having to lose time with me because I fall in love with some woman that doesn't want kids around. That doesn't end well for anyone."

"You think you'd fall in love with her?" Natalie asked, her attention drawn.

He looked down at his mug and shifted on his chair. "Who could know that?"

Natalie leaned forward and tapped his hand. "You. You could know that."

"To be honest, the idea just came out, having her babysit. She said she'd be in Hartford next week, and it had been weighing on my mind, having Asher with me and all of a sudden I was asking her to watch him. I trust her, and he adores her."

Natalie smiled. "I know. He told me all about her. I would take it personally, but he told me she was almost as pretty as I was, so I let it go."

"That kid is good," he smirked.

"So who do you think is prettier?" she teased him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Me."

"God, your ego," she laughed. "Do you want me to find out if she likes you?"

"This isn't high school."

"Just checking," she said, holding up her hands. "I have to go. I'd say this has been fun, but honestly I wish you'd just ask the woman out already. It's obvious you want to, and she's Asher approved, and I don't hate her. As long as she doesn't hate you, I think we could all be on the same page if you'd just man up."

"I don't want to be her rebound guy," he said adamantly.

"Who says she needs a rebound guy? Maybe that's what Greg was. And besides, wouldn't it beat turning her into your trusted babysitter?"

"I can't back out now. She'll think I don't trust her."

"I'm not saying you should back out. I just think if you're going to ask her, you should do it fast. Giving people too much time to think isn't a good thing, especially with people like her. She's smart and cautious."

"She can be spontaneous and a hell of a lot of fun, too," he argued.

She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned down, giving him a quick brush on the cheek with her lips. "Seriously, just ask her out already."

-X-

Rory zipped up her hooded sweatshirt a little further and pulled down her ball cap. It was the first time she'd been out of her apartment since arriving home from Tristan's apartment, and she was doing a few last-minute errands before taking off to hide at her mother's for the week. She'd already dropped off her dry-cleaning, hit the post office, and only had one item left on her list. She stepped off the elevator and hesitated briefly before taking a step in and asking the receptionist for a quick visit with her boss.

"She's free for about ten minutes now, is that long enough?"

Rory nodded and stepped to the door, waiting to be called to open it after she knocked.

Natalie looked up, apparently flummoxed. "Rory. Hi. Did we have a meeting today?"

Rory shook her head and reached into her bag. "No, I just, I wanted to drop off my payment, and well, to apologize. That last meeting was a bit unorthodox, and I just took off without any explanation to you."

Natalie waved it off. "Tristan explained."

Rory motioned to the chair. "May I?"

"Please."

"About Tristan," Rory began.

"He said that you broke up with your boyfriend," Natalie rushed in. "I was sorry to hear that. I hope it was for the best?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know. It's still sort of fresh. I hope I did the right thing."

"You should take a vacation, it does wonders."

"I'm on my way home, to see my mom, right now actually. That's another thing I wanted to run past you."

"You came to tell me you were going to see your mom?" Natalie asked incredulously.

"No, well, in a roundabout way. Tristan asked me to babysit for Asher, this week. I'm from a town not far from Hartford, and apparently he has family business and he didn't want to involve Asher. I don't know any of the details, and he seemed to think it was fine for me to watch him, but you're his mom and I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with it. He'll be in good hands."

"Trust me, anyone is better than Tristan's family. Have you met them?"

Rory shook her head. "No. My grandparents were friendly with his grandfather, I believe, but I never met him."

"Janlan. What a wonderful man. The rest of them," she shuddered. "Tristan takes after Janlan. He was the only one in the family he'd let Asher near, and for good reason. Now that he's passed, it makes his dealing with them worse, on so many levels. Tristan and I agreed a long time ago that we'd be responsible for finding suitable babysitters for Asher, and if he trusts you, I am more than fine with that, especially with him having to take him along to Hartford."

"Well, good. I just thought, if it was me, I'd want to have a say in who is taking care of my kid."

Natalie nodded. "I see why he trusts you. He doesn't trust a lot of people."

"Like you said, I'm apparently better than the alternative."

"It's more than that. Do you," Natalie began, but seemed to rethink her question.

"Do I what? Have a lot of experience with kids?" Rory guessed.

"No, I was looking for a polite way to ask just what your relationship with Tristan was."

"We're just… well, I guess we're friends, in a way. Why?"

"Are you sure that's all it is? He's mentioned you a lot lately, and the two of you, the last time you were here, it seemed like maybe there was more than friendship there."

Rory shook her head adamantly. "I swear to you, he's never even attempted to ask me out recently. He did in high school, but that was some kind of weird competitive instinct."

"I don't mean to pry into your personal life," Natalie explained. "It's just that because of Asher, he'll always be in my life and I care about him. Sometimes I don't show it the right way, but I want what's best for him."

Rory began to regret coming, when she could have just written a nice note to send along with her payment. She was far better at expressing herself via the written word than in person. "I'm sure the feeling is mutual. Anyway, I just came to thank you and give you the check, and I have, so, you know, I should get going, I don't want to hold you up. Thanks again, for all your help."

Natalie sat and watched as Rory fled as fast as she could, before she could find out anything at all that might help her ex in regards to the woman, other than she made quite the getaway under stress.

-X-

"You're here! I had Sookie whip up all your favorites," Lorelai said as she rushed around the reception desk to slide her arm around her daughter. "Wait. You packed all that for lunch? Have you been talking to Emily?"

"I have been talking to Grandma. She called to see if I was free to vacation at their island house in August. It would seem they're the brand new owners of a timeshare on a private island in the Caribbean."

"There is nothing that woman won't do to be right," Lorelai said in amazement.

"But my bags have nothing to do with Grandma. I know we said lunch, but I need a longer break. Can I stay for a little longer than the afternoon?"

"How much longer are we talking? Enough for you to help me do a little inventory?"

"I'm post-break up. I'm not here for inventory. I need my childhood bedroom and copious amounts of Ben and Jerry's. And I'm not sure exactly how long, but probably until Friday because I promised Tristan I'd babysit for his son on Thursday while he attends to business in Hartford."

Lorelai stopped and put up a hand. "Hold on a minute. Tristan asked you to babysit his kid? Have you become a regular fixture in his life?"

"Not at all. I was there once, watching movies and eating pizza, with him and his son, who is adorable by the way. He only asked me to babysit this week because he was in a crunch. Apparently his family is horrible, and I was the only option that didn't involve them."

"Does Tristan know you and Greg broke up?"

Rory nodded. "Yes, he does. He was the first to find out, actually."

"And did he mention taking you out on a date as payment for this babysitting?"

"No, Mom, I told you, it's not like that. It's just a favor for a friend. Tristan is not interested in me that way. I get the feeling that things aren't completely over between him and his ex, and I just broke up with Greg."

Lorelai leaned in. "Are you that upset about Greg?"

Rory dropped her jaw. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying. You look pretty good. Freedom to pursue other options agrees with you."

"Thank you, I think, and I am upset. Maybe not the most upset I've ever been, but I'm sad. I've lost some sleep. I've cried, a little."

Lorelai raised an eyebrow.

"And I will pursue other options, but that doesn't mean Tristan is included in that subset."

"This isn't a math equation. This is the guy you've so much as admitted to wanting to kiss and do other potentially dirty things with."

"If he wanted to kiss me, he's had the opportunity," she reasoned. "I'm just going to watch his kid for a few hours, not date him. I thought I'd take Asher on the tour of the town and maybe hit a matinee at the Black, White, and Read."

"There's a town meeting that night, if you have him late enough," Lorelai suggested.

"Tristan's supposed to email me the details, but he said it was business. They'll probably be on their way back to New York by then."

"Well, should they need overnight accommodations, we're not at fully capacity again until Friday," Lorelai offered.

"I will pass on the offer, but right now I think I'll insist on lunch. I'm starving."

"And maybe over lunch we'll talk more about how you came to be this guy's last-minute babysitter instead of his date for next weekend," Lorelai said, linking arms with her daughter as they headed to the dining room.


	7. Chapter 7

Legal Advisement

Chapter Seven

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

"Two milkshakes, please," Rory said as she leaned over the outer edge of the counter.

"What flavor?" Luke asked, turning and pausing for a moment at the sight in front of him. Rory Gilmore was ordering for two, he hoped, but her companion was not one he'd ever seen her with in the diner. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Rory with children, and he'd never seen her with kids he didn't know. "Whose kid is that?"

The kid had climbed up onto a bar stool. "I'm her date."

Rory stifled a laugh. "A friend's. He had business in Hartford, so I offered to show Asher here a Stars Hollow afternoon. We had to hit Luke's for the grand finale."

"At least you're not giving him coffee," Luke said with relief.

"Can I have coffee?" Asher asked Rory.

"Uh, I don't think so," Rory said haltingly. "Does your dad let you have coffee?"

"Coffee ice cream," he said.

Rory turned to Luke. "Do you have coffee ice cream?"

"I have chocolate and vanilla. If you need a larger selection of ice cream, or cones, you know where to go."

Rory's forehead creased. "Taylor freaked him out. He was in costume for the county jamboree sing-a-long try-outs on the corner across from Ms. Patty's, and Asher thought he was one of the crazy guys in New York that are off their meds," she explained.

Luke barked out a laugh. "Just for that, your milkshake is on the house, kid."

Asher smiled. "I'll have chocolate."

"Two chocolate shakes, coming up," Luke said, leaving them alone at the counter.

"So, have you had fun?" Rory asked her charge.

"So much fun. I usually don't like it when Dad has to go to Hartford."

Rory hesitated, unsure how heavy of a conversation to get into with the boy. So far, she'd been able to chat him up about school, his interests, the movie they'd seen, and types of food he liked. Their time was growing short, and so was her list of safe topics to talk to a kid about, let alone Tristan's kid. "I'm glad I was free to hang out with you."

"There you are!"

Rory swung around to see her mother entering the establishment with her usual burst of energy. She shrugged off her work jacket and stepped around the counter to stash it under the cash register. Luke came around from the kitchen with two milkshakes and a disapproving frown aimed at Lorelai. "What are you doing?"

"I'm hot."

"How is that my problem?"

"You like it when I'm hot," she offered playfully, to no avail.

He pointed at her feet. "You're behind my counter."

"It's one of my girlfriend perks."

"No, it's not. There are many, real and imaginary, but that is not one of them."

"I didn't mess anything up."

"You breached my personal space."

"I breach your personal space all the time, and rarely do I hear a complaint," she put forth. "Especially when I'm removing clothing."

He shifted uncomfortably and glanced to Rory and the kid. "Can you behave yourself? There are kids present."

"That's why I'm here," she said with exasperation.

"Not to clutter up my storage area?"

"I could take it all the way upstairs to the office. Do you want me to go all the way up the stairs just to get my jacket away from your ketchup?"

"Yes, in fact, I do."

She rolled her eyes and turned to sit next to Rory. "Can I have a milkshake, too?"

"If you can talk him into giving you one," Rory interjected. "Those two are spoken for."

"You get a milkshake when I get my shelf back," Luke said, making his delivery.

"What have you been up to?" Lorelai asked, ignoring Luke. "I tried to get away sooner in case you needed back up, but it looks like he's not missing any limbs or anything."

"We saw a movie and ate French fries in the theater," Asher said proudly.

"A Stars Hollow tradition. Or maybe just a Gilmore tradition," she added. "Did she take you to see the big ball of twine?"

"It's on the official tour," Rory nodded. "Though I did think you were kidding about that."

"Taylor was afraid of missing out on tourism revenue," Lorelai informed her daughter.

"We definitely contributed to the local economy," Rory said definitively.

"I need to use the bathroom," Asher said, interrupting the conversation. Rory walked him over to the bathroom door and left him to take care of business.

"So, how is it really going?" Lorelai asked once she returned alone.

"Fine. Tristan seemed really stressed out when he dropped him off."

"Did he say why he was seeing his family?"

Rory shook her head. "We haven't spoken much, just to coordinate dropping Asher off today. After I talked to Natalie, it just seemed like anything more would be an intrusion."

"You know, just because she might want him back, that doesn't mean he wants her back. Why did they split up, anyway?"

"He said they wanted different things, and that she was the one that pushed for the divorce."

"Then maybe you misunderstood her."

"Or maybe she realizes that he's a good guy that she let get away too easily," Rory reasoned. "He does seem to be a good guy. A really good guy in fact. A great father, a good friend," she said on the verge of dreamily.

"And why haven't you asked him out again?"

"You mean besides the fact that things are complicated with him and his ex, I just got out of a relationship, and when given the opportunity he asked me to be his kid's babysitter instead of asking me out?" Rory said, reiterating the same reasons yet again for her mother.

"I think you're reading too much into some of that. If you're not ready, that's one thing, but until you find out how he feels, you shouldn't decide that for him."

"I'm not deciding anything for him. And I'm fine just being friends. And as his friend, I'm happy to look after his kid. Asher's pretty cool, for a little kid."

"Luke seems to like him, which is high praise for anyone under the age of twelve," Lorelai pointed out.

"My God, you lost him?"

Both women turned to see Tristan standing in the middle of the diner, messenger bag slung across his shoulders and resting on his back. He was smiling, and Rory felt a rush of relief that he was kidding.

"He's in the bathroom," she told him with immediacy, despite his teasing.

"I guessed. I see you're filling him with sugar."

"I like happy charges," she admitted.

"I had nothing to do with the milkshakes, mostly because I can't get served today. If I were in charge, I'd have made sure there was whipped cream on top. Definitely a cherry or two. Possibly sprinkles," Lorelai said before she extended her hand. "I'm Lorelai Gilmore, perhaps you've heard of me."

"Are you famous?" he asked, gripping her hand in a firm shake.

"Not at all. But I thought Rory might have mentioned me."

"And why's that?"

"Because she's mentioned you to me," Lorelai said, flashing a brilliant smile.

Tristan regarded Rory with amusement. "Has she?"

"I told her I was watching Asher for you," Rory explained in embarrassment.

"Dad!"

Asher came rushing at Tristan, as if he'd been gone far longer than a few hours. Tristan held onto his son for a minute before releasing him. "Can I have the rest of your milkshake?"

"I just got it, you can't have it all," Asher complained.

"How about just a few sips, then?"

"You can have what I don't finish," Asher consented.

"Fair enough," Tristan agreed.

"Did everything go well?" Rory asked.

Tristan sucked in air through his teeth. "Not really, but I expected complications. I actually have to go back in the morning to sign a few things, but I can bring Asher with me for that. Do you know good hotel nearby?"

Lorelai blew out air and a groan came with it. "You really didn't mention me to him at all, did you?"

"Did I say something?" Tristan asked Rory.

"She runs an inn, and apparently she has an available room," Rory said, glaring at her mother.

"Consider it booked," Tristan said to Lorelai. "When is check-in?"

"For normal guests, four in the afternoon, but if you need to head over now, just tell Michel at the desk that I said it was fine to check in early. If he gives you a hard time, tell him he's fired and that I mean it this time."

"We don't need special treatment. I'll let him finish the shake, which will take a while if he's serious about not letting me help him. And I'd actually like to talk to you, if that's okay," he said, turning his attention to Rory.

Rory appeared startled and looked from her mother to Tristan. "Oh. Sure. We can talk."

"Outside, maybe?" he clarified.

"Uh," Rory stalled, glancing at Asher.

"I'll stay with him, if I can have some of your milkshake," Lorelai offered.

"Leave me a little," Rory ordered, as she followed Tristan out of the diner and onto the sidewalk near the entrance of the neighboring ice cream shop. "Is everything okay? I swear, I gave him real food, too. He asked for mac and cheese, which is handy as it's one of three meals I can make with a fair amount of success."

"The milkshake is fine," Tristan said. "You cooked for him?"

"Of course."

He shook his head. "I didn't call you out here to talk about Asher."

"You don't have to stay at my mother's inn. You're free to find your own accommodations."

"It's fine. I'd rather stay out here than in town anyway."

"I should tell you something," she blurted out.

"What?"

"I talked to Natalie, before I came out here. I went to settle my bill, but I mentioned that you'd asked me to babysit, because it felt weird not to mention it to her but then she started saying how much she still cares about you, and I just don't want to be stepping on anyone's toes."

"You aren't. And she's fine with you watching Asher."

"She said as much. I just thought it was better if we told each other everything. I know you said you guys work well because of your honesty with each other, and I didn't want to get in the way of that."

"I appreciate that, but you don't have to worry about upsetting her."

"It's just that you've been a great friend to me lately, and I want to repay you in kind. I know you don't trust just anyone with your kid."

"I don't trust just anyone with him," he agreed. "But I wanted to be clear that I don't want you to become his regular babysitter."

She waved away the need for explanation. "I know you have other people to care for him in normal circumstances, and it's not that I'm offering—not that I wouldn't watch him again, because he's an awesome kid, but I just want you to know that I respect the boundaries of our friendship."

"That's sort of the other problem," he said. "I don't want you to be his babysitter, and I don't want to just be your friend."

She blinked and attempted to process his declaration. "Wow. Okay. If that's how you feel," she began, but he shook his head impatiently and cut her off.

"I appreciate you watching him today, more than you know, and I've enjoyed the time we've spent together lately, a lot, but I was hoping that we might go out together, alone, without Asher, as more than friends."

"Like a date?"

He took a steadying breath. "I know you just got out of a relationship, but," he began to lay out his argument.

"Yes," she cut him off that time.

He stared at her in confusion. "What?"

"I'll go out with you."

"You will?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"This Saturday?"

"I'm available."

"Dinner, say eight o'clock?"

"Absolutely."

He leaned in. "Not as friends."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she lost her train of thought as well as her voice for long enough for them both to notice. "I, uh, understand."

"I just wanted to make sure you were up for it. I know you came here for clarity, to get over Greg."

"I got it," she said with a curt nod. "I'm over it."

He didn't argue with her, but he did seek out any indication, however slight, that she didn't completely believe her own words. "I debated whether or not to do this."

She felt her heart fall in her chest. "You did?"

"Of course."

"Oh, right. Well, I get it," she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

He reached out and held her elbow with his hand. "But I didn't want to risk losing the opportunity by waiting. I just didn't want to rush you."

A smile broke out on her face. "I'm not rushed."

"Good," he said, pleased with the outcome. They stood there, smiling at each other for a good minute before he turned his head to check in on his son. "How much sugar did you give him?"

"He's fine. He's worried about you, though."

He straightened his spine. "Worried about me? What did he say?"

Rory shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing specific. He seems to get that your business wasn't happy. I don't mean to pry, but I thought I should mention it."

He let out a worried breath. "I'm not trying to keep things from him, but he's five. I can't… there are things you can't unleash on a kid. Things I won't expose him to, not until he's old enough, at least, and then only if I have to."

"I think he's just concerned for you. I'm not saying offer him full disclosure, not yet, but letting him know you're okay wouldn't be a bad idea. And he's probably the smartest five-year-old I've ever met. He picks up more than you want him to, doesn't he?"

He groaned. "He does. Damn it. Thanks, I'll talk to him."

"I should probably go say goodbye. If you need dinner, or any other meal, you should eat at the inn. The chef is second-to-none, and I'm not saying that because I'm the godmother to her second-born."

"You're a godmother?" he asked.

"To more than one kid," she divulged a fact that still surprised her. "I do a lot of hoping that their parents lead long, healthy lives. It's mostly an honorary title that involves me spoiling them at regular intervals."

"Just so we're clear, I'm not looking for a mother for Asher. For right now, it's just about us. If things get to a point where he gets involved in what's happening with us, we'll deal with that then. But I have priorities in my life that I can't and won't move. Asher is at the top of that list. Before we get into this, you need to know that about me."

"I respect that, and I anticipated that. It's hardly a secret that you have a son."

"It's more than my having a son. Lots of people have kids, but not everyone makes their kid a priority. There's a big difference, trust me. I can't be with anyone who doesn't want kids in their life, because I have one in mine. I don't mean to get heavy before we even go out, but it's how I have to operate."

She took in his words, wondering if he was trying to warn her away or not. She certainly remembered his question from before, when she said she wasn't sure she wanted kids. She could feel it between them, like humid air. "The idea of having kids to me has always been this big unknown. It wasn't something I could envision, or predict how it would change the relationship I was in. This is different. I have a name and a face and a personality to put to the idea and it's there from the beginning. Not that I expect to be in his life right away. I respect your rules. He's yours, and I'm a one-time babysitter and a fellow brownie enthusiast in his regard."

His eyes were bright, though his expression was still static and intense. "I kind of want to kiss you right now."

She smiled up at him. "Too bad you have to wait until Saturday."

One eyebrow rose over a stormy blue eye. "You kiss on the first date?"

"If it's a good date."

"What else do you do on the first date?" he asked, leaning in closer.

"You should consider yourself lucky if you get a kiss," she said, keeping her face stern as her knees went weak.

He stayed close long enough to give her a response. "Oh, I'll get a kiss."

Her eyes fluttered ever so slightly. Her muscles seemed to be turning soft and unreliable in his presence, one by one. "Arrogance isn't an attractive quality."

"It's always worked for me," he admitted. "But I have other talents as well."

"I hope date planning is among them."

"My success is based on my motivation."

"Are you motivated?" she asked, her genuine curiosity coming off as coy behavior.

"Mmmm," he murmured, giving her a nod.

She swallowed hard. "We should get back inside."

"After you."

She let out a long, cleansing breath and took two steps. When she didn't hear footfalls behind her, she turned. "You aren't watching me walk away, are you?"

His smile was the only answer she needed.

-X-

"I knew you wanted to kiss him," Lorelai said.

"I didn't agree to kiss him. I agreed to one date."

"Rory, it's me. I'm basically you with better taste in music. Agreeing to go on a date is agreeing to kiss him."

"Things between us are going to move slowly. He already thought better of asking me out so soon, since I just got out of a relationship, and he's hesitant to mix up his kid in a relationship."

"Except he's already had you spend time with Asher, and I dare you to even be able to remember Greg's name after Tristan kisses you."

Rory peered at her mother. "Do you want to kiss Tristan?"

Lorelai smirked. "That would be weird, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it would."

"Is it weird that spending just five minutes with his kid made my biological clock tick so loud it gave me a migraine?"

Rory put her hand to her stomach. "Not weird at all."

Lorelai perked up. "You had maternal stirrings?"

"He's a good kid."

"He is. The father he's attached to doesn't hurt the deal, either."

"I babysat for an afternoon, I'm not adopting him. He already has a mother."

"Didn't you know, it takes a village."

"Unless you mean Greenwich, that doesn't work in this situation."

"You can't be involved with a guy with a kid and not eventually be in the kid's life."

"You did it most of my life, you kept all the guys you dated separate from our home life. Until Max."

"Do I need to get into why it's a bad idea to model your relationships after mine? You've met your father, haven't you?"

Rory groaned. "I'm just saying, that just because we go on a few dates doesn't mean I'm going to even see Asher again."

"What happens after you get past the first few dates?"

"Tristan already told me that he doesn't drag his kid into his relationships, and that his kid takes precedence over everything else in his life."

Lorelai didn't look surprised. "Does that bother you?"

"No."

"Because it's okay if it does."

"It doesn't bother me. I'm not saying that it won't later or that we'll ever get to a point where it becomes an issue. We're going on a date. One date. A first date."

"Except it won't be like a normal first date."

Rory frowned. "What does that mean? Of course it's a normal first date. We've never been on one."

"True, but you have hung out with him and his kid, babysat for his kid, and didn't you kiss before?"

"Ten years ago. That doesn't count."

"I'm sorry, there's a statute of limitations on kissing? How does that work? Is it like becoming re-virginized? Does one of you suffer from amnesia?"

"I remember the kiss. I can't say if he does or not."

"Oh, believe me, he remembers."

Rory took that in. "Still. It's a first date nonetheless."

"Fine, it's a first date. Remember that when you're trying to decide whether or not to shave your legs or if you should wear your third-date underwear."

"I'm appalled that you would even think I might have sex with him on the first date."

"A normal first date, I wouldn't think you a likely candidate. But the two of you outside Luke's earlier didn't look like two people who hadn't been on a date before. You looked like you needed somewhere private to remove the other's clothes."

"You have a very dirty mind."

"You didn't argue with me."

"You're making me nervous about the whole thing. Maybe it is too soon."

"It's not too soon."

"Now you're just trying to be nice."

"No, I'm not. I don't think there's a proper amount of time you have to wait before going out with someone new, especially when the new someone looks like Tristan Dugrey."

Rory nodded, but didn't look wholly appeased. "Can you do me a favor? I want you to make sure they get Sookie's famous French toast tomorrow morning, on the house."

"I will do this thing you ask," Lorelai quoted, making Rory groan and head to the take-out drawer to sort out dinner. "But one day, I may ask a favor of you."

-X-

Regardless of what she told her mother, Rory did in fact own third-date underwear, the kind that was meant to be seen and touched by someone other than her. They lay out on her duvet, waiting for her to select them over a pair of her average-everyday variety delicates. Any of her undergarments were eligible to carry her through embarrassing emergency situations—should she be in an accident or a friend need to help her through some sort of clothing removal crisis, she kept nice pieces that were more modest in her employ. The third-date underwear was not aspiring to modesty, and many parts of them were nearly see-through, thanks to lace and a general lack of coverage.

She'd like to say that she hadn't dedicated much brain space to this decision, let alone a good two-hour chunk at work when she was supposed to be doing research at her computer. She was far more nervous for the date than she had anticipated, and while she was fairly secure in her outfit choice, until she landed on how prepared she wanted to be underneath said outfit, she couldn't finish getting ready for the date.

She didn't need advice. She knew she could call her mother for that very purpose, but she also knew her mother's vote. She could call Lane, but Lane would certainly have a very different vote. She could even call Paris, but then she'd get a lecture on safe sex, and how to accurately predict someone's likelihood of having an STD based on their number of sexual partners, and she didn't want to have a headache during her date.

Her standby choice of being better safe than sorry didn't work in this case, as she wasn't sure exactly how it fit in this particular scenario. It all became a moot point when she heard a knock at her front door, and she hastily grabbed a robe and wrapped it around her, rushing to see who had dropped by during her crunch time.

Tristan stood in her hallway, and they stared at one another for a few seconds when she opened the door without welcoming him in immediately.

"We're supposed to meet at the restaurant!" she cried in her state of unpreparedness.

His brows knit together. "That's what friends do," he supplied.

"You said our reservations were for eight."

"They are. Which is why I'm here now, to pick you up and escort you to those reservations."

"I'm not ready," she said, stating the obvious.

"Hence the robe. Wait, were you going to cancel?"

Her eyes widened at the inquiry. "No, why?"

"Because even if you did think you were meeting me there, shouldn't you be ready to go now anyway?"

She shifted her weight, not willing to tell him the exact reason for her state of delay. "I, uh, just wasn't sure what to wear."

"Something a little fancier than a robe," he supplied. "Not that it isn't a nice robe."

She flushed. "I'll just go finish getting ready. I dress quickly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Good to know."

Her color deepened to a nice crimson. "Just relax. There's TV, or some stuff to drink in my fridge."

"I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself in your apartment," he informed her, encouraging her to leave him alone.

She hesitated. "You aren't going to look around at all my stuff, silently judging me, are you?"

He grinned. "I was planning on vocalizing my judgments, actually."

She gave him a reprimanding gaze. "Don't do that."

He nodded simply. "Right."

The decision she'd agonized over ended up being made on the fly, in less than a second, as she re-entered her room to see the two options again with fresh eyes and the recent memory of his aftershave lingering. Her sensible panties went back in the drawer, and true to her word she joined him in a finished state in no time.

"All set."

He stared at her for a moment again, the unmistaken appreciation for the view making her smile. "Much better than the robe."

"I thought you were impressed by how fast I got dressed."

His eyes met hers. "That skill can come in handy."

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the involuntary reaction parts of her body had to his words. "Should we go?"

"Yeah, yes. We should."

"Wait," she blurted out before they could get to her door, causing him to stop and eye her with concern.

"You changed your mind?" he asked knowingly.

"No, no," she dismissed quickly. "It's just, I know you joked about kissing on the first date, but," she began.

"You thought I was joking?" he said slowly, taking in her state of mind.

"I… weren't you?"

"I was flirting," he explained slowly in case she was completely unaware of the custom.

"That much was obvious," she assured him. "But I figured we should agree on that now, so it isn't awkward later in the evening."

"You want to set ground rules for kissing? Are you afraid I'm going to do something weird?"

Though flustered at the mental image of his words, she pressed on. "Not weird, or even unwelcome. But some things probably shouldn't be rushed, right?"

"Are you sure you want to do this tonight? If you're not ready," he said gently.

"I'm ready, I mean, as much as I'm ever ready to date. I hate dating, normally, especially first dates, but this is different. I want to go out with you, and I can't imagine our first date would be like a normal first date."

"You mean that in a good way, I hope," he said with a bemused smile.

"Most first dates are with people you don't know, and you have all that weird small talk to find out who they are—which, let's face it, doesn't always go well—and we don't have to endure all that. We know more than the basics. Hell, we've kissed before."

He bowed his head slightly. "I remember."

"Not that because of any of that I have any expectations about tonight, other than it'll probably go better than most first dates, and usually that means rushing the physical stuff, and I wasn't sure you would want to do that."

"Is that some convoluted way of asking if I expect sex?" he asked, confused.

"No, God, no. I mean, no," she said, letting out a hard breath. "I just… wanted to let you know that I was okay with taking things slowly, even though we're sort of past normal first-date status."

"We could agree that nothing will happen tonight, and if that's what you really want, I can respect that. But since this isn't a normal first date, as you've successfully argued, there is another route we could take."

"Which is what?" she asked, at a loss.

"We could kiss now, to curb the anticipation."

Her eyes widened as the suggestion. "We, uh, well," she stammered.

"Because we have done it before."

She cleared her throat hard. "I remember."

"Though I would like there to be one notable difference from the last time," he said seriously.

"What's that?"

"When we kissed in high school, you ran away before it was over."

She ducked her chin at the memory. "That had nothing to do with you or your kissing ability."

"So when I kiss you again, you'll stay put?" he reasoned.

She nodded and bit her lip, staring at his mouth and wondering just when he was going to offer this kiss.

He leaned in, unleashing a tidal wave of butterflies in her stomach. "You promise?" he whispered, with his lips nearly brushing her cheek. His breath tickled the peach fuzz on her face, and she shivered.

"I promise," she whispered back.

"So do you want to avoid the anticipation?" he asked, still a breath away from brushing his lips over hers.

"Too late for that," she answered, encouraging him to breach the last of her personal space and meet her lips with his.

She lifted up on her toes to engage her response, feeling herself unwind as his hands slid down to her waist to pull her in closer to his chest. In an instant, the hurry to head out to dinner was forgotten, along with any preconceptions for first-date behavior. Her hand slid to his chest and paused, which he took as a signal to ease off. She made no move to step away from him, though he watched her intently as their breath fell in unison.

"Ready for that first date now?" she said when she finally opened her eyes again.

"There was just one more thing I wanted to do before we left," he said, not budging or letting go of her either.

She frowned up at him. "That wasn't enough of a preview?"

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "I wanted to thank you."

"For the kiss?" she asked, still confused.

"For the French toast," he corrected. "At first I thought that your mom was just being nice and making sure we had the best thing on the menu; it didn't hit me until later that you set it up."

"What gave it away?" she asked, curious.

"When she wouldn't let me pay," he said with a smile. "Your mom seems really nice, but she runs her own business; no way would she turn down payment for services rendered unless someone else was behind it."

"Guilty as charged."

"French toast is Asher's favorite."

She failed at constraining her smile. "I know."

"You don't have to win his affection, I think it's already won."

"I just wanted you guys to enjoy the stay."

"We did."

"I figured if you had a positive experience, you might go back."

"Oh, we will."

She nodded. "More family business?"

He stiffened, but kept his hands at her waist. "Probably. We should get going. As much as I'd like to stay here and keep doing this," he said, his eyes starting to smolder again as he looked at her. She wondered how he did that—one look from him nearly turned the bones in her legs to gelatin, unable to support her weight properly.

"Maybe after dinner," she shot back, with a suggestive wink.

He groaned and tightened his grip on her for just a second before stepping back to let her lead him to the door. "So much for curbing the anticipation."


End file.
